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X 


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THE    THREE    CLEHKS. 


^   JCotJel, 


By  ANTHONY  TROLLOPE, 

AUTHOR    OF 


THE     WEST    INDIES    AND     THE     SPANISH    MAIN, 

"  DOCTOR    THORNE,"    "  THE    BERTRAMS," 

"castle   RICHMOND,"    &C. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 

1860. 


Gli 


,5  (''i  '^ 


T4i 


I  u  H 


■t\P. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE  p^GH 

L   THE  WEIGHTS  AND  MEASUEES,    7 

n.    THE  INTERNAL  NAVIGATION, 15 

in.    THE   WOODWARDS, 25 

IV.    CAPTAIN   CUTTWATER, 35 

V.    BUSHEY    PARK, 47 

VI,   SIR  GREGORY  HARDLINES, 5t 

VIL    MR.    FIDUS   NEVERBEND, 66 

VIII.   THE  HON.   UNDECIMUS  SCOTT, TS 

IX    MR.    MANYLODES, 86 

X.    WHEAL   MARY  JANE, .  .  .  ; 99 

XI.   THE   THREE   KINGS, Ill 

Xn.   CONSOLATION, 123 

Xm.   A  COMMUNICATION  OF  IMPORTANCE, 135 

XrV.   VERY   SAD, -r 142 

XV.   NORMAN  RETURNS  TO  TOWN, 154 

XVL    THE   FIRST   WEDDING, 161 

XVn.    THE   HONORABLE   MRS.    VAL   AND   MISS    GOLIGHTLY, 166 

XVni.    A   DAY   WITH   ONE   OF   THE    NAVVIES — MORNING, lit 

XIX.    A   DAY   WITH   ONE   OP   THE    NAVVIES — AFTERNOON, 18*7 

XX.    A  DAY   WITH   ONE   OF    THE    NAVVIES — EVENING, 198 

XXI.   HAMPTON  COURT    BRIDGE, 212 

XXn.   CRINOLINE  AND  MACASSAR ;    OR,   MY  AUNT'S  WILL, 219 

XXin.   SURBITON    COLLOQUIES, 245 

XXTV.    MR.    M'BUFFER  ACCEPTS   THE    CHILTERN   HUNDREDS, 251 

XXV.    CHISWICK    GARDENS, 259 

XXVI.    KATIE'S   FIRST    BALL, 273 

XXVn.   EXCELSIOR, 286 

xxvin.  outerman  v.  .tudor, 297 

XXIX,   easy  IS  THE  SLOPE    OF  HELL, 309 


iy!6J3it^8G 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXX.   MRS.   wood-ward's    REQUEST, 320 

XXXI.   HOW   APOLLO   SAYED   THE   NAVVY, 335 

XXXIL    THE  PARLIAMENTARY    COMMITTEE, 346 

XXXin.   TO   STAND,   OR  NOT  TO    STAND, 355 

XXXIV.   WESTMINSTER  HALL, 364 

XXXV.   MRS.   VAL'S  NEW  CARRIAGE, 376 

XXXVI.   TICKLISH  STOCK, ...  384 

XXXVn.    TRIBULATION, 395 

XXXVIIL    ALARIC   TUDOR    TAKES  A  WALK, 405 

XXXIX.   THE  LAST  BREAKFAST, 413 

XL.    MR.    CHAFPANBRASS, 41*7 

XLI.   THE   OLD   BAILEY, 427 

XLH.   A  PARTING    INTERVIEW, 442 

XLin.    MILLBANK, 451 

XLIV.   THE  CRIMINAL  POPULATION  IS  DISPOSED   OF, 463 

XLV.    THE   FATE   OF   THE   NAVVIES, 412 

XLVL   MR.  NOGO'S  LAST  QUESTION, 419 

XLVn.  CONCLUSION, 485 


THE    THREE    CLERKS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    WEIGHTS    AND    MEASURES. 


All  the  English  world  kiiows,  or  knows  of,  that  branch  of  the 
Civil  Service  which  is  popularly  called  the  Weights  and  Mea- 
sures. Every  inhabitant  of  London,  and  every  casual  visitor 
there,  has  admired  the  handsome  edifice  which  generally  goes 
by  that  name,  and  which  stands  so  conspicuously  confronting 
the  Treasury  Chambers.  It  must  be  owned  that  we  have  but 
a  slip-slop  way  of  christening  our  public  buildings.  When  a 
man  tells  us  that  he  called  on  a  friend  at  the  Horse-Guards,  or 
looked  in  at  the  Navy  Pay,  or  dropped  a  ticket  at  the  Woods 
and  Forests,  we  put  up  with  the  accustomed  sounds,  though 
they  are  in  themselves,  perhaps,  indefensible.  The  "  Board  of 
Commissioners  for  Regulating  Weights  and  Measures,"  and  the 
"  Office  of  the  Board  of  Commissioners  for  Regulating  Weights 
and  Measures,"  are  very  long  phrases ;  and  as,  in  the  course  of 
this  tale,  frequent  mention  will  be  made  of  the  public  esta- 
blishment in  question,  the  reader's  comfort  will  be  best  con- 
sulted by  maintaining  its  popular  though  improper  deno- 
mination. 

It  is  generally  admitted  that  the  Weights  and  Measures  is  a 
well-conducted  public  office;  indeed,  to  such  a  degree  of 
efficiency  has  it  been  brought  by  its  present  very  excellent 
secretary,  the  two  very  worthy  assistant-secretaries,  and  espe- 
cially by  its  late  most  respectable  chief-clerk,  that  it  may  be 
said  to  stand  quite  alone  as  a  high  model  for  all  other  public 
offices  whatever.  It  is  exactly  antipodistic  of  the  Circumlo- 
cution Office,  and  as  such  is  always  referred  to  in  the  House  of 
Commons  by  the  gentleman  representing  the  Government  when 
any  attack  on  the  Civil  Service,  generally,  is  being  made. 

And  when  it  is  remembered  how  great  are  the  interests 
intrusted  to  the  care  of  this  board,  and  of  these  secretaries  and 
of  that  chief-clerk,  it  fliust  be  admitted  that  nothing  short  of 
superlative  excellence  ought  to  suffice  the  nation.     All  material 


8  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

intercourse  between  man  and  man  must  be  regulated,  either 
justly  or  unjustly,  by  weights  and  measures ;  and  as  we  of  all 
people  depend  most  on  such  material  intercourse,  our  weights 
and  measures  should  to  us  be  a  source  of  never-ending  concern. 
And  then  that  question  of  th£  .iiecimalcoinage !  is  it  not  in 
these  days  of  paramount  importance  ?  Are  we  not  disgraced 
by  the  twelve  pennies  in  our  shilling,  by  the  four  farthings  in 
our  penny  ?  One  of  the  worthy  assistant-secretaries,  the 
worthier  probably  of  the  two,  has  already  grown  pale  beneath 
the  weight  of  this  question.  But  he  has  sworn  within  himself, 
with  all  the  heroism  of  a  Nelson,  that  he  will  either  do  or  die. 
He  will  destroy  the  shilling  or  the'  shilling  shall  destroy  him. 
In  his  more  ardent  moods  he  thinks  that  he  hears  the  noise  of 
battle  booming  round  him,  and  talks  to  his  wife  of  Westminster 
Abbey  or  a  peerage.  Then  what  statistical  work  of  the  present 
age  has  shown  half  the  erudition  contained  in  that  essay  lately 
published  by  the  secretary  on  "The  Market  Price  of  Coined 
Metals?"  What  other  living  man  could  have  compiled  that 
chronological  table  w^hich  is  appended  to  it,  showing  the  com- 
parative value  of  the  metallic  currency  for  the  last  three 
hundred  years  ?  Compile  it  indeed  I  What  other  secretary  or 
assistant-secretary  belonging  to  any  public  office  of  the  present 
day,  could  even  read  it  and  live  ?  It  completely  silenced  Mr. 
Muntz  for  a  session,  and  even  "The  Times"  was  afraid  to 
review  it. 

Such  a  state  of  official  excellence  has  not,  however,  been 
obtained  without  its  drawbacks,  at  any  rate  in  the  eyes  of  the 
unambitious  tyros  and  unfledged  novitiates  of  the  establishment. 
It  is  a  very  fine  thing  to  be  pointed  out  by  envying  fathers  as 
a  promising  clerk  in  the  Weights__amLMeasures,  and  to  receive 
civil  speeches  from  mamma^  with  marriageable  daughters.  But 
a  clerk  in  the  Weights  and  Measures  is  soon  made  to  under- 
stand that  it  is  not  for  him  to — 

"  Sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade." 

It  behoves  him  that  his  life  should  be  grave  and  his  pursuits 
laborious,  if  he  intends  to  live  up  to  the  tone  of  those  around 
him.  And  as  sitting  there  at  his  early  desk,  his  eyes  already 
dim  with  figures,  he  sees  a  jaunty  dandy  saunter  round  the 
opposite  corner  to  the  Council  Office  at  eleven  o'clock,  he 
cannot  but  yearn  after  the  pleasures  of  idleness. 

""Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use ?" 


THE   WEIGHTS    AND   MEASURES.  9 

He  says  or  sighs.     But  then  comes  Phoebus  in  the  guise  of  the 
chief-clerk,  and  touches  his  trembling  ears — 


"As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 
Of  so  much  fame,  m  Downing  Street — expect  the  meed." 

And  so  the  high  tone  of  the  office  is  maintained. 

Such  is  the  character  of  the  Weights  and  Measures  at  this 
present  period  of  which  we  are  now  treating.  The  exoteric 
crowed  of  the  Civil  Service,  that  is,  the  great  body  of  clerks 
attachedttrot"her~6fficesp*^gaLd  -their  brethren  of  the  Weights  as 
prigs  and  pedants,  and  look  on  them  much  as  a  master's  favorite  is 
apt  to  be  regarded  by  other  boys  at  school.  But  this  judgment 
is  an  unfair  one.  Prigs  and  pedants,  and  hypocrites  too,  there 
are  among  them,  no  doubt — but  there  are  also  among  them 
many  stirred  by  an  honorable  ambition  to  do  well  for  their 
country  and  themselves,  and  to  two  siKji-mpn  t.hej.gadprjg  now 
requested  to  permit  himself  to  be  introduced. 

Henry  Norman,  the  senior  of  the  two,  is  the  second  son 
of  a  gentleman  of  small  property  in  the  north  of  England.  He 
was  educated  at  a  public  school,  and  thence  sent  to  Oxford; 
but  before  he  had  finished  his  first  year  at  Brazenose  his  father 
was  obliged  to  withdraw  him  from  it,  finding  himself  unable  to 
bear  the  expense  of  a  university  education  for  his  two  sons. 
His  elder  son  at  Cambridge  was  extravagant;  and  as,  at  the 
critical  moment  when  decision  became  necessary,  a  nomination 
in  the  Weights  and  Measures  was  placed  at  his  disposal,  old 
Mr.  Norman  committed  the  not  uncommon  injustice  of  pre- 
ferring the  interests  of  his  elder  but  faulty  son  to  those  of  the 
younger  with  whom  no  fault  had  been  found,  and  deprived 
his  child  of  the  chance  of  combining  the  glories  and  happiness 
of  a  double  first,  a  fellow,  a  college  tutor,  and  a  don. 

Whether  Harry  Norman  gained  or  lost  most  by  the  change  we 
need  not  now  consider,  but  at  the  age  of  nineteen  he  left  Oxford 
and  entered  on  his  new  duties.  It  must  not,  however,  be  sup- 
posed that  this  was  a  step  which  he  took  without  difiiculty  and 
without  pause.  It  is  true  that  the  grand  modern  scheme  for 
competitive  examinations  had  not  as  yet  been  composed.  Had 
this  been  "HoSepancrhad  it  been  carried  out,  how  awful  must 
have  been  the  cramming  necessary  to  get  a  lad  into  the  Weights 
and  Measures  !  But,  even  as  things  were  then,  it  was  no  easy 
matter  for  a  young  man  to  convince  the  chief-clerk  that  he  had 

1* 


10  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

all  the  acquirements  necessary  for  the  high  position  to  which  he 
aspired. 

Indeed,  that  chief-clerk  was  insatiable,  and  generally  suc- 
ceeded in  making  every  candidate  conceive  the  very  lowest 
opinion  of  himself  and  his  own  capacities  before  the  examination 
was  over.  Some  of  course  were  sent  away  at  once  with  igno- 
miny, as  evidently  incapable.  Many  retired  in  the  middle 
of  it  with  a  conviction  that  they  must  seek  their  fortunes  at  the 
bar,  or  in  medical  pursuits,  or  some  other  comparatively  easy 
walk  of  life.  Others  were  rejected  on  the  fifth  or  sixth  day  as 
being  deficient  in  conic  sections,  or  ignorant  of  the  exact 
principles  of  hydraulic  pressure.  And  even  those  who  were 
retained  were  so  retained,  as  it  were,  by  an  act  of  grace. 
The  Weights  and  Measures  was,  and  indeed  is,  like  heaven — no 
man  can  deserve  it.  No  candidate  can  claim  as  his  right  to 
be  admitted  to  the  fi'uition  of  the  appointment  which  has  been 
given  to  him.  Henry  Norman,  however,  was  found,  at  the 
close  of  his  examination,  to  be  the  least  undeserving  of  the 
young  men  then  under  notice,  and  was  duly  installed  in  his 
clerkship. 

It  need  hardly  be  explained,  that  to  secure  so  high  a  level 
of  information  as  that  required  at  the  Weights  and  Mea- 
sures, a  scale  of  salaries  equally  exalted  has  been  found  neces- 
sary. Young  men  consequently  enter  at  lOOl.  a-year.  We 
are  speaking,  of  course,  of  that  more  respectable  branch  of 
the  establishment  called,  the  Secretary's  Department.  At  none 
other  of  our  public  oflBces  do  men  commence  with  more  than 
901., — except,  of  course,  at  those  in  which  political  confidence 
is  required.  Political  confidence  is  indeed  as  expensive  as 
hydraulic  pressure,  though  generally  found  to  be  less  difficult 
of  attainment. 

Henry  Norman,  therefore,  entered  on  his  labors  under  good 
auspices,  having  lOl.  per  annum  more  for  the  business  and 
pleasures  of  life  in  London  than  most  of  his  young  brethren  of 
the  Civil  Service.  Whether  this  would  have  sufficed  of  itself 
to  enable  him  to  live  up  to  that  tone  of  society  to  which  he  had 
been  accustomed  cannot  now  be  surmised,  as  very  shortly  after 
his  appointment  an  aunt  died,  from  whom  he  inherited  some 
1501.  or  200?.  a-year.  He  was,  therefore,  placed  above  all  want, 
and  soon  became  a  shining  light  even  in  that  bright  gallery  of 
spiritualised  stars  which  formed  the  corps  of  clerks  in  the  Secre- 
tary's Office  at  the  Weights  and  Measures. 

Young  Norman  was  a  good-looking  lad  when  he  entered  the 


THE   AVEIGHTS   AND   MEASUKES.  11 

public  service,  and  in  a  few  years  he  grew  up  to  be  a  handsome 
man.  He  was  tall  and  thin  and  dark,  muscular  in  his  propor- 
tions, and  athletic  in  his  habits.  From  the  date  of  his  first 
enjoyment  of  his  aunt's  legacy  he  had  a  wherry  on  the  Thames, 
and  was  soon  known  as  a  man  whom  it  was  hard  for  an  amateur 
to  beat.  lHe  had  a  racket  in  a  racket-court  at  St.  John's  Wood 
Koad,  and  as  soon  as  fortune  and  merit  increased  his  salary  by 
another  100/.  a-year,  he  usually  had  a  nag  for  the  season.  This, 
however,  was  not  attained  till  he  was  able  to  count  five  years' 
service  in  the  Weights  and  Measures.  He  was,  as  a  boy,  some- 
what shy  and  reserved  in  his  manners,  and  as  he  became  older 
he  did  not  shake  off  the  fault.  He  showed  it,  however,  rather 
among  men  than  with  women,  and,  indeed,  in  spite  of  his  love 
of  exercise,  he  preferred  the  society  of  ladies  to  any  of  the 
bachelor  gaieties  of  his  unmarried  acquaintance.  He  was, 
nevertheless,  frank  and  confident  in  those  he  trusted,  and  true 
in  his  friendships,  though,  considering  his  age,  too  slow  in 
making  a  friend.  Such  was  Henry  Norman  at  the  time  at  which 
our  tale  begins.  What  were  the  faults  in  his  character  it  must 
be  the  business  of  the  tale  to  show. 

'  The  other  young  clerk  in  this  office  to  whom  we  alluded  is 
Alaric  Tudor.  He  is  a  year  older  than  Henry  Norman,  though 
he  began  his  official  career  a  year  later,  and  therefore  at  the  age 
of  twenty-one.  How  it  happened  that  he  contrived  to  pass  the 
scrutinising  instinct  and  deep  powers  of  examination  possessed 
by  the  chief-clerk,  was  a  great  wonder  to  his  friends,  though 
apparently  none  at  all  to  himself.  He  took  the  whole  proceeding 
very  easily ;  while  another  youth  alongside  of  him,  who  for  a 
year  had  been  reading  up  for  his  promised  nomination,  was  so 
awe-struck  by  the  severity  of  the  proceedings  as  to  lose  his 
powers  of  memory  and  forget  the  very  essence  of  the  differential 
calculus. 

Of  hydraulic  pressure  and  the  differential  calculus  young 
Tudor  knew  nothing,  and  pretended  to  know  nothing.  He  told 
the  chief-clerk  that  he  was  utterly  ignorant  of  all  such  matters, 
that  his  only  acquirements  were  a  tolerably  correct  knowledge 
of  English,  French  and  German,  with  a  smattering  of  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  such  an  intimacy  with  the  ordinary  rules  of  arith- 
metic and  with  the  first  books  of  Euclid  as  he  had  been  able  to 
pick  up  while  acting  as  a  tutor,  rather  than  a  scholar,  in  a  small 
German  University. 

The  chief-clerk  raised  his  eyebrows  and  said  he  feared  it 
would  not  do.     A  clerk,  however,  was  wanting.    It  was  very 


12  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

clear  that  the  young  gentleman  who  had  only  showed  that  he 
had  forgotten  his  conic  sections  could  not  be  supposed  to  have 
passed.  The  austerity  of  the  last  few  years  had  deterred  more 
young  men  from  coming  forward  than  the  extra  lOl.  had  induced 
to  do  so.  One  unfortunate,  on  the  failure  of  all  his  hopes,  had 
thrown  himself  into  the  Thames  from  the  neighboring  boat- 
stairs  ;  and  though  he  had  been  hooked  out  uninjured  by  the 
man  who  always  attends  there  with  two  wooden  legs,  the  effect 
on  his  parents'  minds  had  been  distressing.  Shortly  after  this 
occurrence  the  chief-clerk  had  been  invited  to  attend  the  Board, 
and  the  Chairman  of  the  Commissioners,  who,  on  the  occasion, 
was  of  course  prompted  by  the  Secretary,  recommended  Mr. 
Hardlines  to  be  a  leetle  more  lenient.  In  doing  so  the  quantity 
of  butter  which  he  poured  over  Mr.  Hardlines'  head  and  shoul- 
ders with  the  view  of  alleviating  the  misery  which  such  a 
communication  would  be  sure  to  inflict,  was  very  great.  But, 
nevertheless,  Mr.  Hardlines  came  out  from  the  Board  a  crestfallen 
and  unhappy  man.  "  The  service,"  he  said,  "  would  go  to  the 
dogs,  and  might  do  for  anything  he  cared,  and  he  did  not  mind 
how  soon.  If  the  Board  chose  to  make  the  Weights  and 
Measures  an  hospital  for  idiots,  it  might  do  so.  He  had  done 
what  little  lay  in  his  power  to  make  the  office  respectable ;  and 
now,  because  mammas  complained  when  their  cubs  of  sons  were 
not  allowed  to  come  in  there  and  rob  the  public  and  destroy  the 
oflSce  books,  he  was  to  be  thwarted  and  reprimanded  !  He  had 
been,"  he  said,  "  eight  and  twenty  years  in  office,  and  was  still  in 
his  prime — but  he  should,"  he  thought,  "  take  advantage  of  the 
advice  of  his  medical  friends  and  retire.  He  would  never  remain 
there  to  see  the  Weights  and  Measures  become  an  hospital 
for  incurables ! " 

It  was  thus  that  Mr.  Hardlines,  the  chief-clerk^  expressed 
himself.  He  did  not,  however,  send  in  a  medical  certificate, 
nor  apply  for  a  pension ;  and  the  first  apparent  effect  of  the 
little  lecture  which  he  had  received  from  the  Chairman,  was 
the  admission  into  the  service  of  Alaric  Tudor.  Mr.  Hardlines 
was  soon  forced  to  admit  that  the  appointment  was  not  a  bad 
one,  as  before  his  second  year  was  over,  young  Tudor  had  pro- 
duced a  very  smart  paper  on  the  merits — or  demerits — of  the 
strike  bushel. 

Alaric  Tudor  when  he  entered  the  office  was  by  no  means 
so  handsome  a  youth  as  Harry  Norman;  but  yet  there  was 
that  in  his  face  which  was  more  expressive,  and  perhaps  more 
attractive.     He  was  a  much  slighter  man,  though  equally  tall. 


#^ 


THE   WEIGHTS    AND   MEASURES.  13 

He  could  boast  no  adventitious  capillary  graces,  whereas  young 
Norman  had  a  pair  of  black  curling  whiskers,  which  almost 
surrounded  his  face,  and  had  been  the  delight  and  wonder  of 
the  maid-servants  in  his  mother's  house,  when  he  returned 
home  for  his  first  ofiicial  holiday.  Tudor  wore  no  whiskers, 
and  his  light-brown  hair  was  usually  cut  so  short  as  to  give  him 
something  of  the  appearance  of  a  clean  Puritan. 

But  in  manners  he  was  no  Puritan  ;  nor  yet  in  his  mode  of 
life.  He  was  fond  of  society,  and  at  an  early  period  of  his  age 
strove  hard  to  shine  in  it.  He  was  ambitious ;  and  lived  with 
the  steady  aim  of  making  the  most  of'sneh'  advantages  as  fate 
and  fortune  had  put  in  his  way.  Tudor  was  perhaps  not 
superior  to  Norman  in  point  of  intellect ;  but  he  was  infinitely 
his  superior  in  having  early  acquired  a  knowledge  how  best  to 
use  such  intellect  as  he  had. 

His  education  had  been  very  miscellaneous,  and  disturbed 
by  many  causes,  but  yet  not  ineff'ective  or  deficient.  His  father 
had  been  an  officer  in  a  cavalry  regiment,  with  a  fair  fortune, 
which  he  had  nearly  squandered  in  early  life.  He  had  taken 
Alaric  when  little  more  than  an  infant,  and  a  daughter,  his 
only  other  child,  to  reside  in  Brussels.  Mrs.  Tudor  was  then 
dead,  and  the  remainder  of  the  household  had  consisted  of  a 
French  governess,  a  bonne,  and  a  man-cook.  Here  Alaric 
remained  till  he  had  perfectly  acquired  the  French  pronuncia- 
tion, and  very  nearly  as  perfectly  forgotten  the  English.  He 
was  then  sent  to  a  private  school  in  England,  where  he  re- 
mained till  he  was  sixteen,  returning  home  to  Brussels  but 
once  during  those  years,  when  he  was  invited  to  be  present  at 
his  sister's  marriage  with  a  Belgian  banker.  At  the  age  of 
sixteen  he  lost  his  father,  who,  on  dying,  did  not  leave  behind 
him  enough  of  the  world's  wealth  to  pay  for  his  own  Burial. 
His  half-pay  of  course  died  with  him,  and  young  Tudor  was 
hterally  destitute. 

His  brother-in-law,  the  banker,  paid  for  his  half-year's  school- 
ing in  England,  and  then  removed  him  to  a  German  academy, 
at  which  it  was  bargained  that  he  should  teach  English  without 
remuneration,  and  learn  German  without  expense.  Whether 
he  taught  much  English  may  be  doubtful,  but  he  did  learn 
German  thoroughly  ;  and  in  that,  as  in  most  other  transactions 
of  his  early  life,  certainly  got  the  best  of  the  bargain  which 
had  been  made  for  him. 

At  the  age  of  twenty  he  was  taken  to  the  Brussels  bank  as  a 
clerk  ;  but  here  he  soon  gave  visible  signs  of  disliking  the  drudg- 


14  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

ery  which  was  exacted  from  him.  Not  that  he  disliked  banking. 
He  would  gladly  have  been  a  partner  with  ever  so  small  a 
share,  and  would  have  trusted  to  himself  to  increase  his  stake. 
But  there  is  a  limit  to  the  good-nature  of  brothers-in-law,  even 
in  Belgium  ;  and  Alaric  was  quite  aware  that  no  such  good- 
luck  as  this  could  befall  him,  at  any  r^^te  until  he  had  gone 
through  many  years  of  servile  labor.  His  sister  also,  though 
sisterly  enough  in  her  disposition  to  him,  did  not  quite  like 
having  a  brother  employed  as  a  clerk  in  her  husband's  office. 
They  therefore  put  their  heads  together,  and  as  the  Tudors 
had  good  family  connections  in  England,  a  nomination  in  the 
Weights  and  Measures  was  procured. 

The  nomination  was  procured ;  but  when  it  was  ascertained 
how  very  short  a  way  this  went  towards  the  attainment  of  the 
desired  object,  and  how  much  more  difficult  it  was  to  obtain 
Mr.  Hardlines'  approval  than  the  Board's  favor,  young  Tudor's 
friends  despaired,  and  recommended  him  to  abandon  the  idea, 
as,  should  he  throw  himself  into  the  Thames,  he  might  perhaps 
fall  beyond  the  reach  of  the  waterman's  hook.  Alaric  himself, 
however,  had  no  such  fears.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  con- 
ceive that  he  could  fail  in  being  fit  for  a  clerkship  in  a  public 
office,  and  the  result  of  his  examination  proved  at  any  rate  that 
he  had  been  right  to  try. 

The  close  of  his  first  year's  life  in  London  found  him  living  in 
lodgings  with  Henry  Norman.  At  that  time  Norman's  income 
was  nearly  three  times  as  good  as  his  own.  To  say  that  Tudor 
selected  his  companion  because  of  his  income  would  be  to  ascribe 
unjustly  to  him  vile  motives  and  a  mean  instinct.  He  had  not 
done  so.  The  two  young  men  had  been  thrown  together  by 
circumstances.  They  worked  at  the  same  desk,  liked  each 
other's  society,  and  each  being  alone  in  the  world,  thereby  not 
unnaturally  came  together.  But  it  may  probably  be  said  that 
had  Norman  been  as  poor  as  Tudor,  Tudor  might  probably 
have  shrunk  from  rowing  in  the  same  boat  with  him. 

As  it  was  they  lived  together  and  were  fast  allies ;  not  the 
less  so  that  they  did  not  agree  as  to  many  of  their  avocations. 
Tudor,  at  his  friend's  solicitation,  had  occasionally  attempted  to 
pull  an  oar  from  Searle's  slip  to  Battersea  bridge.  But  his 
failure  in  this  line  was  so  complete,  and  he  had  to  encounter  so 
much  of  Norman's  raillery,  which  was  endurable,  and  of  his  in- 
struction, which  was  unendurable,  that  he  very  soon  gave  up 
the  pursuit.  He  was  not  more  successful  with  a  racket ;  and 
keeping  a  horse  was  of  course  out  of  the  question. 


THE   INTERNAL   NAVIGATION.  15 

They  had  a  bond  of  union  in  certain  common  friends  whom 
they  much  loved,  and  with  whom  they  much  associated.  At 
least  these  friends  soon  became  common  to  them.  The  ac- 
quaintance originally  belonged  to  Norman,  and  he  had  first 
cemented  his  friendship  with  Tudor  by  introducing  him  at  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Woodward.  Since  he  had  done  so,  the  one  young 
man  was  there  nearly  as  much  as  the  other. 

AVho  and  what  the  Woodwards  were  shall  be  told  in  a  sub- 
sequent chapter.  As  they  have  to  play  as  important  a  part  in 
the  tale  about  to  be  told  as  our  two  friends  of  the  Weights  and 
Measures,  it  would  not  be  becoming  to  introduce  them  at  the 
end  of  this. 

As  regards  Alaric  Tudor  it  need  only  be  further  said,  by  way 
of  preface  of  him  as  of  Harry  Norman,  that  the  faults  of  his 
character  must  be  made  to  declare  themselves  in  the  course  of 
our  narrative. 


CHAPTER  n. 

THE    INTERNAL    NAVIGATION. 


The  London  world,  visitors  as  well  as  residents,  are  well 
acquainted  also  with  Somerset  House  :  and  it  is  moi'eover  tole- 
rably well  known  that  Somerset  House  is  a  nest  of  public  oflBces, 
which  are  held -to  be  of  less  fashionable  repute  than  those  situ- 
ated in  the  neighborhood  of  Downing  Street,  but  are  not  so 
decidedly  plebeian  as  the  Custom  House,  Excise,  and  Post  Office. 

But  there  is  one  branch  of  the  Civil  Service  located  in 
Somerset  House,  which  has  little  else  to  redeem  it  from  the 
lowest  depths  of  official  vulgarity  than  the  ambiguous  respecta- 
bility of  its  material  position.  This  is  the  office  of  the  Commis- 
sioners of  Internal  Navigation.  The  duties  to  be  peTfofiineH 
have  reference  to  the  preservation  of  canal  banks,  the  tolls  to 
be  levied  at  locks,  and  disputes  with  the  Admiralty  as  to  points 
connected  wnth  tidal  rivers.  The  rooms  are  dull  and  dark,  and 
saturated  with  the  fog  which  rises  from  the  river,  and  their  only 
ornament  is  here  and  there  some  dusty  model  of  an  improved 
barge.  Bargees  not  unfrequently  scuffle  with  hobnailed  shoes 
through  the  passages,  and  go  in  and  out,  leaving  behind  them 
a  smell  of  tobacco,  to  which  the  denizens  of  the  place  are  not 
unaccustomed. 

Indeed,  the  whole  office  is  apparently  infected  with  a  leaven 
of  bargedom.     Not  a  few  of  the  men  are  employed  from  time 


16  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

to  time  in  tlie  somewhat  lethargic  work  of  inspecting  the  banks 
and  towing-paths  of  the  canals  which  intersect  the  country.  This 
they  generally  do  seated  on  a  load  of  hay,  or  perhaps  of  bricks, 
in  one  of  those  long,  ngly,  shapeless  boats,  which  are  to  be  seen 
congregating  in  the  neighborhood  of  Brentford.  So  seated, 
they  are  carried  along  at  the  rate  of  a  mile  and  a  half  an  hour, 
and  usually  while  away  the  time  in  gentle  converse  with  the 
man  at  the  rudder,  or  in  silent  abstraction  over  a  pipe. 

But  the  dulness  of  such  a  life  as  this  is  fully  atoned  for  by 
the  excitement  of  that  which  follows  it  in  London.  The  men 
of  the  Internal  Navigation  are  known  to  be  fast,  nay,  almost 
furious  in  their  pace  of  living  ;  not  that  they  are  extravagant 
in  any  great  degree,  a  fault  which  their  scale  of  salaries  very 
generally  forbids ;  but  they  are  one  and  all  addicted  to  Coal 
Holes  and  Cider  Cellars;  they  dive  at  midnight  hours  into 
Shades,  and  know  all  the  back  parlors  of  all  the  public-houses 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Strand.  Here  they  leave  messages 
for  one  another,  and  call  the  girl  at  the  bar  by  her  Christian 
name.  They  are  a  set  of  men  endowed  with  sallow  complexions, 
and  they  wear  loud  clothing,  and  spend  more  money  in  gin- 
and- water  than  in  gloves. 

The  establishment  is  not  unusually  denominated  the  "  Infer- 
nal Navigation,"  and  the  gentlemen  employed  are  not  altoge- 
ther displeased  at  having  it  so  called.  The  "  Infernal  Navvies," 
indeed,  rather  glory  in  the  name.  The  navvies  of  Somerset 
House  are  known  all  over  London,  and  there  are  those  who 
believe  that  their  business  has  some  connection  with  the  rivers 
or  railroads  of  that  bourne  from  whence  no  traveller  returns. 
Looking,  however,  from  their  office  windows  into  the  Thames, 
one  might  be  tempted  to  imagine  that  the  infernal  navigation 
with  which  they  are  connected  is  not  situated  so  far  distant 
from  the  place  of  their  labors. 

The  spirit  who  guards  the  entrance  into  this  elysium  is  by  no 
means  so  difficult  to  deal  with  as  Mr.  Hardlines.  And  it  was 
well  that  it  was  so  some  few  years  since  for  young  Charley 
Tudor,  a  cousin  of  our  friend  Alaric ;  for  Charley  Tudor  could 
never  have  passed  muster  at  the  Weights  and  Measures. 
Charles  Tudor,  the  third  of  the  three  clerks  alluded  to  in  our 
title-page,  is  the  son  of  a  clergyman,  who  has  a  moderate  living 
on  the  Welsh  border,  in  Shropshire.  Had  he  known  to  what 
sort  of  work  he  was  sending  his  son,  he  might  probably  have 
hesitated  before  he  accepted  for  him  a  situation  in  the  Internal 
Navigation  Office.     He  was,  however,  too  happy  in  getting  it 


THE   INTERNAL   NAVIGATION.  17 

to  make  many  inquiries  as  to  its  nature.  AVe  none  of  us* 
like  to  look  a  gift-liorse  in  the  mouth.  Old  Mr.  Tudor  knew 
that  a  clerkship  in  the  Civil  Service  meant,  or  should  mean,  a 
respectable  maintenance  for  life,  and  having  many  young  Tudors 
to  maintain  himself,  he  was  only  too  glad  to  find  one  of  them 
provided  for. 

Charley  Tudor  was  some  few  years  younger  than  his  cousin 
Alaric  when  he  came  up  to  town,  and  Alaric  had  at  that  time 
some  three  or  four  years'  experience  of  London  life.  The 
examination  at  the  Internal  Navigation  was  certainly  not  to  be 
so  much  dreaded  as  that  at  the  Weights  and  Measures ;  but 
still  there  was  an  examination  ;  and  Charley,  who  had  not  been 
the  most  diligent  of  school-boys,  approached  it  with  great  dread 
after  a  preparatory  evening  passed  with  the  assistance  of  his 
cousin  and  Mr.  Norman. 

Exactly  at  ten  in  the  morning  he  walked  into  the  lobby  of 
his  future  workshop,  and  found  no  one  yet  there  but  two  aged 
seedy  messengers.  He  was  shown  into  a  waiting-room,  and 
there  he  remained  for  a  couple  of  hours,  during  which  every 
clerk  in  the  establishment  came  to  have  a  look  at  him.  At 
last  he  was  ushered  into  the  Secretary's  room. 

"  Ah !"  said  the  Secretary,  "  your  name  is  Tudor,  isn't  it  ?" 

Charley  confessed  to  the  fact. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Secretary,  "  I  have  heard  about  you  from 
Sir  Gilbert  de  Salop."  Now  Sir  Gilbert  de  Salop  was  the  great 
family  friend  of  this  branch  of  the  Tudors.  But  Charley, 
finding  that  no  remark  suggested  itself  to  him  at  this  moment 
concerning  Sir  Gilbert,  merely  said,  "Yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  wish  to  serve  the  Queen  ?"  said  the  Secret^aryT^---^ 

Charley,  not  quite  knowing  whether  this  was  a  joke  or  not, 
said  that  he  did. 

"  Quite  right — it  is  a  very  fair  ambition,"  continued  the 
great  official  functionary — "  quite  right — but,  mind  you,  Mr. 
Tudor,  if  you  come  to  us  you  must  come  to  work.  I  hope 
you  like  hard  work ;  you  should  do  so,  if  you  intend  to  remain 
with  us." 

Charley  said  that  he  thought  he  did  rather  like  hard  work. 
Hereupon  a  senior  clerk  standing  by,  though  a  man  not  given 
to  much  laughter,  smiled  slightly,  probably  in  pity  at  the  un- 
ceasing labor  to  which  the  youth  was  about  to  devote  himself. 

"  The  Internal  Navigation  requires  great  steadiness,  good 
natural  abilities,  considerable  education,  and — and — and  no  end 
of  application.     Come,  Mr.  Tudor,  let  us  see  what  you  can  do." 


18  THE  THKEE   CLERKS. 

And  so  saying,  Mr.  Oldeschole,  the  Secretary,  motioned  him  to 
sit  down  at  an  office  table  opposite  to  himself. 

Charley  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  took  from  the  hands  of  his 
future  master  an  old,  much-worn  quill  pen,  with  which  the  great 
man  had  been  signing  minutes. 

"Now,"  said  the  great  man,  "just  copy  the  few  first  sentences 
of  that  leading  article — either  one  will  do ;"  and  he  pushed 
over  to  him  a  huge  newspaper. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Charley  did  not  know  what  a  leading  article 
was,  and  so  he  sat  abashed,  staring  at  the  paper. 

"  Why  don't  you  write  ?"  asked  the  Secretary. 

"  Where  shall  I  begin.  Sir  ?"  stammered  poor  Charley,  look- 
ing piteously  into  the  examiner's  face. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  there  ;  either  of  those  leading  articles," 
and  leaning  over  the  table  the  Secretary  pointed  to  a  particular 
spot. 

Hereupon  Charley  began  his  task  in  a  large,  ugly,  round 
hand,  neither  that  of  a  man  nor  of  a  boy,  and  set  himself  to 
copy  the  contents  of  the  paper.  "  The  name  of  Pacifico  stinks 
in  the  nostril  of  the  British  public.  It  is  well  known  to  all  the 
world  how  sincerely  we  admire  the  vers^tility  of  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's  genius ;  how  cordially  we  szmpathise  with  his  patriotic 
energies.  But  the  admiration  which  even  a  Paimerston 
inspires  must  have  a  bound,  and  our  s^mpathy  may  be   called 

on  too  far.     When  we  find  oui-selves  asked  to  pay ,"     By 

this  time  Charley  had  half  covered  the  half-sheet  of  foolscap 
which  had  been  put  before  him,  and  here  at  the  word  "  pay  " 
he  unfortunately  sufl'ered  a  large  blot  of  ink  to  fall  on  the  paper. 

"  That  won't  do,  Mr.  Tudor,  that  won't  dg2r:Come,  let  us 
look  ;"  and  stretching  over  again,  the  Secretary  tooknip  the 
copy.  _ 

"  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  this  is  very  bad ;  versatility  with  an 
*  i !' — sympathy  with  an  '  i !'  sympathise  with  an  M  !'  Why, 
Mr.  Tudor,  you  must  be  very  fond  of '  i's '  down  in  Shropshire." 

Charley  looked  sheepish,  but  of  course  said  nothing. 

"  And  I  never  saw  a  viler  hand  in  my  life.  Oh  dear,  oh 
dear,  I  must  send  you  back  to  Sir  Gilbert.  Look  here,  Snape, 
this  will  never  do — never  do  for  the  Internal  Navigation, 
will  it?" 

Snape,  the  attendant  senior  clerk,  said,  as  indeed  he  could 
not  help  saying,  that  the  writing  was  very  bad. 

"  I  never  saw  worse  in  my  life,"  said  the  Secretary,  "  And 
now,  Mr.  Tudor,  what  do  you  know  of  arithmetic  ?" 


THE  INTEBNAL  NAVIGATION.  19 

Charley  said  that  he  thought  he  knew  arithmetic  pretty 
well ; — "  at  least  some  of  it,"  he  modestly  added. 

"  Some  of  it !"  said  the  Secretary,  slightly  laughing.  "  Well, 
I'll  tell  you  what — this  won't  do  at  all ;"  and  he  took  the 
unfortunate  manuscript  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger. 
*'  You  had  better  go  home  and  endeavor  to  write  something  a 
little  better  than  this.  Mind,  if  it  is  not  very  much  better  it 
won't  do.  And  look  here ;  take  care  that  you  do  it  yourself. 
If  you  bring  me  the  writing  of  any  one  else,  I  shall  be  sure  to 
detect  you.  I  have  not  any  more  time  now  ;  as  to  arithmetic 
we'll  examine  you  in  '  some  of  it '  to-morrow." 

So  Charley  with  a  faint  heart  went  back  to  his  cousin's  lodg- 
ings, and  waited  till  the  two  friends  had  arrived  from  the 
Weights  and  Measures.  The  men  there  made  a  point  of  stay- 
ing up  to  five  o'clock,  as  is  the  case  with  all  model  ofiicials, 
and  it  was  therefore  late  before  he  could  get  himself  properly 
set  to  work.  But  when  they  did  arrive,  preparations  for  cali- 
graphy  were  made  on  a  great  scale  ;  a  volume  of  Gibbon  was 
taken  down,  new  quill  pens,  large  and  small,  and  steel  pens  by 
various  makers  were  procured  ;  cream-laid  paper  was  provided, 
and  ruled  lines  were  put  beneath  it.  And  when  this  was  done, 
Charley  was  especially  cautioned  to  copy  the  spelling  as  well 
as  the  wording. 

He  worked  thus  for  an  hour  before  dinner,  and  then  for  three 
hours  in  the  evening,  and  produced  a  very  legible  copy  of  half 
a  chapter  of  the  "  Decline  and  Fall." 

"I  didn't  think  they  examined  at  all  at  the  Navigation," 
said  Norman. 

"  Well,  I  believe  it's  quite  a  new  thing,"  said  Alaric  Tudor. 
"  The  schoolmaster  must  be  abroad  with  a  vengeance,  if  he  has 
got  as  far  as  that." 

And  then  they  carefully  examined  Charley's  work,  crossed 
his  t's,  dotted  his  i's,  saw  that  his  spelling  was  right,  and  went 
to  bed. 

Again,  punctually  at  ten  o'clock,  Charley  presented  himself 
at  the  Internal  Navigation;  and  again  saw  the  two  seedy 
old  messengers  warming  themselves  at  the  lobby  fire.  On  this 
occasion  he  was  kept  three  hours  in  the  waiting-room,  and  some 
of  the  younger  clerks  ventured  to  come  and  speak  to  him. 
At  length  Mr.  Snape  appeared,  and  desired  the  acolyte  to 
follow  him.  Charley,  supposing  that  he  was  again  going  to  the 
awful  Secretary,  did  so  with  a  palpitating  heart.  But  he  was 
led  in  another  direction  into  a  large  room,  carrying  his  manu- 


20  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

script  neatly  rolled  in  his  hand.  Here  Mr.  Snape  introduced 
him  to  five  other  occupants  of  the  chamber ;  he,  Mr.  Snape 
himself,  having  a  separate  desk  there,  being,  in  official  parlance, 
the  head  of  the  room.  Charley  was  told  to  take  a  seat  at 
a  desk,  and  did  so,  still  thinking  that  the  dread  hour  of  his 
examination  was  soon  to  come.  His  examination,  however,  was 
begun  and  over.  No  one  ever  asked  for  his  caligraphic  manuscript, 
and  as  to  his  arithmetic,  it  may  be  presumed  that  his  assurance 
that  he  knew  '  some  of  it,'  was  deemed  to  be  adequate  evidence 
of  sufficient  capacity.  And  in  this  manner,  Charley  Tudor 
became  one  of  the  Infernal  Navvies. 

He  was  a  gay -hearted,  thoughtless,  rollicking  young  lad,  when 
he  came  up  to  town  ;  and  it  may  therefore  be  imagined  that 
he  easily  fell  into  the  peculiar  ways  and  habits  of  the  office. 
A  short  bargee's  pilot-coat,  and  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  were  soon 
familiar  to  him ;  and  he  had  not  been  six  months  in  London 
before  he  had  his  house-of-call  in  a  cross  lane  running  between 
Essex  Street  and  Norfolk  Street.  "Mary,  my  dear,  a  screw  of 
bird's-eye !"  came  quite  habitually  to  his  lips ;  and  before  his 
first  year  was  out,  he  had  volunteered  a  song  at  the  Buck- 
ingham Shades. 

The  assurance  made  to  him  on  his  first  visit  to  the  office  by 
Mr.  Secretary  Oldeschole,  that  the  Internal  Navigation  w^as  a 
place  of  herculean  labors,  had  long  before  this  time  become 
matter  to  him  of  delightful  ridicule.  He  had  found  himself  to 
be  one  of  six  young  men,  who  habitually  spent  about  five  hours 
a-day" together  in  the  same  room,  and  whose  chief  employment 
was  to  render  the  life  of  the  wretched  Mr.  Snape  as  unendurable 
as  possible.  There  were  copies  to  be  written,  and  entries  to  be 
made,  and  books  to  be  indexed.  But  these  things  were 
generally  done  by  some  extra  hand,  as  to  the  necessity  of  whose 
attendance  for  such  purpose  Mr.  Snape  was  forced  to  certify. 
But  poor  Snape  knew  that  he  had  no  alternative.  He  rule  six 
unruly  young  navvies !  There  was  not  one  of  them  who  did 
not  well  know  how  to  make  him  tremble  in  his  shoes. 

Poor  Mr.  Snape  had  selected  for  his  own  peculiar  walk  in 
life  a  character  for  evangelical  piety.  Whether  he  was  a 
hypocrite — as  all  the  navvies  averred — or  a  man  sincere  as 
far  as  one  so  weak  could  accomplish  sincerity,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  for  us  to  inquire.  He  was  not  by  nature  an  ill- 
natured  man,  but  he  had  become  by  education  harsh  to  those 
below  him,  and  timid  and  cringing  with  those  above.  In  the 
former  category  must  by  no  means  be  included  the  six  young 


THE   INTERNAL   NAVIGATION.  21 

men  who  were  nominally  nnder  his  guidance.  They  were  all 
but  acknowledged  by  him  as  his  superiors.  Ignorant  as  they 
were,  they  could  hardly  be  more  so  than  he.  Useless  as  they 
were,  they  did  as  much  for  the  public  service  as  he  did.  He 
sometimes  complained  of  them  J  but  it  was  only  when  their 
misconduct  had  been  so  loud  as  to  make  it  no  longer  possible 
that  he  should  not  do  so. 

Mr.  Snape  being  thus  by  character  and  predilection  a  religious 
man,  and  having  on  various  occasions  in  olden  days  professed 
much  horror  at  having  his  ears  wounded  by  conversation  which 
was  either  immoral  or  profane,  it  had  of  course  become  the  ha- 
bitual practice  of  the  navvies  to  give  continual  utterance  to 
every  description  of  ribaldry  and  blasphemy  for  his  especial  edi- 
fication. Doubtless  it  may  be  concluded  from  the  habits  of  the 
men,  that  even  without  such  provocation,  their  talk  would  have 
exceeded  the  yea,  yea,  and  nay,  nay,  to  which  young  men  should 
confine  themselves.  But  they  especially  concerted  schemes  of 
blasphemy  and  dialogues  of  iniquity  for  Mr.  Snape's  particular 
advantage ;  and  continued  daily  this  disinterested  amusement, 
till  at  last  an  idea  got  abroad  among  them  that  Mr.  Snape  liked 
it.  Then  they  changed  their  tactics  and  canted  through  their 
noses  in  the  manner  which  they  imagined  to  be  peculiar  to 
methodist  preachers.  So  on  the  whole,  Mr.  Snape  had  an  un- 
easy life  of  it  at  the  Internal  Navigation. 

Into  all  these  malpractices  Charley  Tudor  plunged  headlong. 
And  how  should  it  have  been  otherwise  ?  How  can  any  youth 
of  nineteen  or  twenty  do  other  than  consort  himself  with  the 
daily  companions  of  his  usual  avocations  ?  Once  and  again, 
in  one  case  among  ten  thousand,  a  lad  may  be  found  formed  of 
such  stuff,  that  he  receives  neither  the  good  nor  the  bad  im- 
pulses of  those  around  him.  But  such  a  one  is  a  laj^siis  naturae. 
He  has  been  born  without  the  proper  attributes  of  youth,  or  at 
any  rate,  brought  up  so  as  to  have  got  rid  of  them. 

Such  a  one,  at  any  rate,  Charley  Tudor  was  not.  He  was  a 
little  shocked  at  first  by  the  language  he  heard  ;  but  that  feel- 
ing soon  wore  oflf.  His  kind  heart,  also,  in  the  first  month  of 
his  novitiate,  sympathized  with  the  daily  miseries  of  Mr.  Snape  ; 
but  he  also  soon  learnt  to  believe  that  Mr.  Snape  was  a  coun- 
terfeit, and  after  the  first  half  year  could  torture  him  with  as 
much  gusto  as  any  of  his  brethren.  Alas !  no  evil  tendency 
communicates  itself  among  young  men  more  quickly  than  cru- 
elty.    Those  infernal  navvies  were  very  cruel  to  Mr.  Snape. 

And  yet  young  Tudor  was  a  lad  of  a  kindly  heart,  of  a  free, 


22  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

honest,  open  disposition,  deficient  in  no  proportion  of  mind 
necessary  to  make  an  estimable  man.  But  he  was  easily  mal- 
leable, and  he  took  at  once  the  full  impression  of  the  stamp  to 
which  he  was  subjected.  Had  he  gone  into  the  Weights  and 
Measures,  an  hypothesis  which  of  course  presumes  a  total  pros- 
tration of  the  intellects  and  energy  of  Mr.  Hardlines,  he  would 
have  worked  without  a  groan  from  ten  till  five,  and  have  become 
as  good  a  model  as  the  best  of  them.  As  it  was,  he  can  be 
hardly  said  to  have  worked  at  all,  soon  became  facile  princeps 
in  the  list  of  habitual  idlers,  and  was  usually  threatened  once  a 
quarter  with  dismissal,  even  from  that  abode  of  idleness,  in 
which  the  very  nature  of  true  work  was  unknown. 

Some  tidings  of  Charley's  doings  in  London,  and  non-doings 
at  the  Internal  Navigation,  of  course  found  their  way  to  the 
Shropshire  Parsonage.  His  dissipation  was  not  of  a  very  costly 
kind ;  but  90/.  per  annum  will  hardly  suflice  to  afford  an  ample 
allowance  of  gin-and-water  and  bird's-eye  tobacco,  over  and 
above  the  other  wants  of  a  man's  life.  Bills  arrived  there  re- 
quiring payment ;  and  worse  than  this,  letters  also  came  through 
Sir  Gilbert  de  Salop  from  Mr.  Oldschole,  the  Secretary,  saying 
that  young  Tudor  was  disgracing  the  office  and  lowering  the 
high  character  of  the  Internal  Navigation ;  and  that  he 
must  be  removed,  unless  he  could  be  induced  to  alter  his  line  of 
life,  &c. 

Urgent  austere  letters  came  from  the  father,  and  fond  heart- 
rending appeals  from  the  mother.  Charley's  heart  was  rent. 
It  was  at  any  rate  a  sign  in  him  that  he  was  not  past  hope  of 
grace,  that  he  never  laughed  at  these  monitions,  that  he  never 
showed  such  letters  to  his  companions,  never  quizzed  his  "  gov- 
ernor's" lectures,  or  made  merry  over  the  grief  of  his  mother. 
But  if  it  be  hard  for  a  young  man  to  keep  in  the  right  path 
when  he  has  not  as  yet  strayed  out  of  it,  how  much  harder  is  it 
to  return  to  it  when  he  has  long  since  lost  the  track !  It  was 
well  for  the  father  to  write  austere  letters,  well  for  the  mother 
to  make  tender  appeals,  but  Charley  could  not  rid  himself  of 
his  companions,  nor  of  his  debts,  nor  yet  even  of  his  habits. 
He  could  not  get  up  in  the  morning  and  say  that  he  would  at 
once  be  as  his  cousin  Alaric,  or  as  his  cousin's  friend,  Mr.  Nor- 
man. It  is  not  by  our  virtues  or  our  vices  that  we  are  judged, 
even  by  those  who  know  us  best ;  but  by  such  credit  for  virtues 
or  for  vices  as  we  may  have  acquired.  Now  young  Tudor's 
credit  for  virtue  was  very  slight,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to 
extend  it. 


THE   INTERNAL    NAVIGATION.  23 

At  last  papa  and  mamma  Tudor  came  up  to  town  to  make 
one  last  effort  to  save  their  son ;  and  also  to  save,  on  liis  behalf, 
the  valuable  official  appointment  which  he  held.  He  had  now 
been  three  years  in  his  office,  and  his  salary  had  risen  to  110^. 
per  annum.  110^.  per  annum  was  worth  saving  if  it  could  be 
saved.  The  plan  adopted  by  Mrs.  Tudor  was  that  of  beseeching 
their  cousin  Alaric  to  take  Charley  under  his  especial  wing. 

When  Charley  first  arrived  in  town,  the  fact  of  Alaric  and 
Norman  living  together  had  given  the  former  a  good  excuse  for 
not  offering  to  share  his  lodgings  with  his  cousin.  Alaric,  with 
the  advantage  in  ag«  of  three  or  four  years — at  that  period  of 
life  the  advantage  lies  in  that  direction — with  his  acquired 
experience  of  London  life,  and  also  with  all  the  wonclerous 
eclat  of  the  AVeights  and  Measures  shining  round  him,  had 
perhaps  been  a  little  too  unwilling  to  take  by  the  hand  a  rustic 
cousin  who  w^as  about  to  enter  life  under  the  questionable 
auspices  of  the  Internal  Navigation.  He  had  helped  Charley 
to  transcribe  the  chapter  of  Gibbon,  and  had,  it  must  be  owned, 
lent  him  from  time  to  time  a  few  odd  pounds  in  his  direst 
necessities.  But  their  course  in  life  had  hitherto  been  apart. 
Of  Norman,  Charley  had  seen  less  even  than  of  his  cousin. 

And  now  it  became  a  difficult  question  with  Alaric  how  he 
was  to  answer  the  direct  appeal  made  to  him  by  Mrs.  Tudor ; — 
"  Pray,  pray  let  him  live  with  you,  if  it  be  only  for  a  year, 
Alaric,"  the  mother  had  said,  with  the  tears  running  down  her 
cheeks.  "  You  are  so  good,  so  discreet,  so  clever — you  can  save 
him."  Alaric  promised,  or  was  ready  to  promise,  anything  else, 
but  hesitated  as  to  the  joint  lodgings.  "  How  could  he  manage 
it,"  said  he,  "  hving,  as  he  was,  with  another  man  ?  He  feared 
that  Mr.  Norman  would  not  accede  to  such  an  arrangement. 
As  for  himself,  he  would  do  anything  but  leave  his  friend 
Norman."  To  tell  the  truth,  Alaric  thought  much,  perhaps  too 
much,  of  the  respectability  of  those  with  whom  he  consorted. 
He  had  already  begun  to  indulge  ambitious  schemes,  already 
had  ideas  stretching  even  beyond  the  limits  of  the  Weights  and 
Measures,  and  fully  intended  to  make  the  very  utmost  of  himself. 

Mrs.  Tudor,  in  her  deep  grief,  then  betook  herself  to  Mr. 
Norman,  though  with  that  gentleman  she  had  not  even  the 
slightest  acquaintance.  With  a  sinking  heart,  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  her  unreasonableness,  but  with  the  eloquence  of  maternal 
sorrow,  she  made  her  request.  Mr.  Norman  heard  her  out  with 
all  the  calm  propriety  of  the  Weights  and  Measures,  begged  to 
have  a  day  to  consider,  and  then  acceded  to  the  request. 


24  THE   THREE   CLEEKS. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  do  it,"  said  he  to  Alaric.  The  mother's 
tears  had  touched  his  heart,  and  his  sense  of  duty  had  prevailed. 
Alaric,  of  course,  could  now  make  no  further  objection,  and  thus 
Charley  the  Navvie  became  domesticated  with  his  cousin  Alaric 
and  Harry  Norman. 

The  first  great  question  to  be  settled,-  and  it  is  a  very  great 
question  with  a  young  man,  was  that  of  latch  key  or  no  latch 
key.  Mrs.  Richards,  the  landlady,  when  she  made  ready  the 
third  bedroom  for  the  young  gentleman,  would,  as  was  her  wont 
in  such  matters,  have  put  a  latch  key  on  the  toilet-table  as  a 
matter  of  course,  had  she  not  had  some  lit1|le  conversation  with 
Mamma  Tudor  regarding  her  son.  Mamma  Tudor  had  implored 
and  coaxed,  and  probably  bribed  Mrs.  Richards  to  do  something 
more  than  "  take  her  son  in  and  do  for  him  ;  "  and  Mrs.  Richards, 
as  her  first  compliance  with  these  requests,  had  kept  the  latch 
key  in  her  own  pocket.  So  matters  went  on  for  a  week ;  but 
when  Mrs.  Richards  found  that  her  maid-servant  was  never 
woken  by  Mr.  Charley's  raps  after  midnight,  and  that  she  her- 
self was  obliged  to  descend  in  her  dressing-gown,  she  changed 
her  mind,  declared  to  herself  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to 
keep  a  grown  gentleman  in  leading  strings,  and  put  the  key  on 
the  table  on  the  second  Monday  morning. 

As  none  of  the  three  men  ever  dined  at  home,  Alaric  and 
Norman  having  clubs  which  they  frequented,  and  Charley  eating 
his  dinner  at  some  neighboring  dining-house,  it  may  be  imagined 
that  this  change  of  residence  did  our  poor  navvy  but  little  good. 
It  had,  however,  a  salutary  eftect  on  him,  at  any  rate  at  first. 
He  became  shamed  into  a  quieter  and  perhaps  cleaner  mode  of 
dressing  himself;  he  constrained  himself  to  sit  down  to  breakfast 
with  his  monitors  at  half-past  eight,  and  was  at  any  rate  so  far 
regardful  of  Mrs.  Richards  as  not  to  smoke  in  his  bedroom,  and 
to  come  home  sober  enough  to  walk  up  stairs  without  assistance 
every  night  for  the  first  month. 

But  perhaps  the  most  salutary  effect  made  by  this  change 
on  young  Tudor  was  this,  that  he  was  taken  by  his  cousin  one 
Sunday  to  the  Woodwards.  Poor  Charley  had  had  but  small 
opportunity  of  learning  what  are  the  pleasures  of  decent  society. 
He  had  gone  headlong  among  the  infernal  navvies  too  quickly 
to  allow  of  that  slow  and  gradual  formation  of  decent  alliances 
which  is  all  in  all  to  a  young  man  entering  life.  A  boy  is 
turned  loose  into  London,  and  desired  to  choose  the  good  and 
eschew  the  bad.  Boy  as  he  is,  he  might  probably  do  so  if  the 
opportunity  came  in  his  way.     But  no  such  chance  is  afforded 


THE   WOODWARDS.  25 

him.  To  eschew  the  bad  is  certainly  possible  for  him  ;  but  as 
to  the  good,  he  must  wait  till  he  be  chosen.  This  it  is,  that  is 
too  much  for  him.  He  cannot  live  without  society,  and  so  he 
falls. 

Society,  an  ample  allowance  of  society,  this  is  the  first  requi- 
site which  a  mother  should  seek  in  sending  her  son  to  live 
alone  in  London  ;  balls,  routs,  picnics,  parties ;  women,  pretty, 
well-dressed,  witty,  easy-mannered ;  good  pictures,  elegant 
ckawing-rooms,  well  got-up  books,  Majolica  and  Dresden  china 
— these  are  the  truest  guards  to  protect  a  youth  from  dissipa- 
tion and  immorality. 

"  These  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world," 

— if  only  a  youth  could  have  them  at  his  disposal.  Some  of 
these  things,  though  by  no  means  all,  Charley  Tudor  encoun- 
tered at  the  Woodwards. 


CHAPTER   in. 

THE    WOODWARDS. 


It  is  very  difficult  now-a-days  to  say  \diare-tlie-aiburbs  of 
London  come  to  •sClT'enSTaiid  where  the  country  begins.  The 
railways,  rnstBitd—af-etrabtteg  LoliHoneii'lo  live  in  the  country, 
have  turned  the  country  into  a  city.  London  will  soon  assume 
the  shape  of  a  great  starfish.  The  old  town,  extending  from 
Poplar  to  Hammersmith,  will  be  the  nucleus,  and  the  various 
railway  lines  will  be  the  projecting  rays. 

There  are  still,  however,  some  few  nooks  within  reach  of  the 
metropolis  which  have  not  been  be-villaed  and  betraced  out  of 
all  look  of  rural  charm,  and  the  little  village  of  Hampton,  with 
its  old-fashioned  country  inn,  and  its  bright,  quiet,  grassy  river, 
is  one  of  them,  in  spite  of  the  triple  metropolitan  water-works 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  close  vicinity  on  the  other  of  Hamp- 
ton-Court, that  well-loved  resort  of  cockneydom.  '^ 

It  was  here  that  the  AVoodwards  lived.  Just  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village,  on  the  side  of  it  furthest  from  town,  they 
inhabited  not  a  villa,  but  a  small  old-fashioned  brick  house, 
abutting  on  to  the  road,  but  looking  from  its  front  windows  on 
to  a  lawn  and  garden,  which  stretched  down  to  the  river. 

The  grounds  were  not  extensive,  being  included,  house  and 

2 


26  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

all,  in  an  area  of  an  acre  and  a  half:  but  tlie  most  had 
been  made  of  it ;  it  sloped  prettily  to  the  river,  and  was  abso- 
lutely secluded  from  the  road.  Thus  Surbiton  Cottage,  as  it 
was  called,  though  it  had  no  pretension  to  the  grandeur  of  a 
country-house,  was  a  desirable  residence  for  a  moderate  family 
with  a  limited  income. 

Mrs.  Woodward's  family,  for  there  was  no  Mr.  "Woodward  in 
the  case,  consisted  of  herself  and  three  daughters.  There  was 
afterwards  added  to  this  an  old  gentleman,  an  uncle  of  Mrs. 
Woodward's,  but  he  had  not  arrived  at  the  time  at  which  we 
would  wish  first  to  introduce  our  readers  to  Hampton. 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  the  widow  of  a  clergyiiiaTr'  who  had 
held  a  living  in  London,  and  had  resided  there.  He  had,  how- 
ever, died  w^hen  two  of  his  children  were  very  young,  and  while 
the  third  was  still  a  baby.  From  that  time  Mrs.  Woodward 
had  lived  at  the  cottage  at  Hampton,  and  had  there  maintained 
a  good  repute,  paying  her  way  from  month  to  month  as  widows 
with  limited  incomes  should  do,  and  devoting  herself  to  the 
amusements  and  education  of  her  daughters. 

It  was  not,  probably,  from  any  want  of  opportunity  to  cast 
them  aside,  that  Mrs.  Woodward  had  remained  true  to  her 
weeds ;  for  at  the  time  of  her  husband's  death  she  was  a  young 
and  a  very  pretty  woman ;  and  an  income  of  400Z.  a  year, 
though  moderate  enough  for  all  the  wants  of  a  gentleman's 
family,  would  no  doubt  have  added  sufinciently  to  her  charms 
to  have  procured  her  a  second  alliance,  had  she  been  so  minded. 

Twelve  years,  however,  had  now  elapsed  since  Mr.  Wood- 
ward had  been  gathered  to  his  fathers,  and  the  neighboring- 
world  of  Hampton,  who  had  all  of  them  declared  over  and  over 
again  that  the  young  widow  would  certainly  marry  again,  were 
now  becoming  as  unanimous  in  their  expressed  opinion  that  the 
old  widow  knew  the  value  of  her  money  too  well  to  risk  it  in 
he  keeping  of  the  best  he  that  ever  wore  boots. 

At  the  date  at  which  our  story  commences,  she  was  a  comely 
little  woman,  past  forty,  somewhat  below  the  middle  height, 
rather  embonpoint^  as  widows  of  forty  should  be,  with  pretty  fat 
feet,  and  pretty  fat  hands ;  wearing  just  a  souppon  of  a  widow's 
cap  on  her  head,  with  her  hair,  now  slightly  grey,  parted  in 
front,  and  brushed  very  smoothly,  but  not  too  carefully,  in  ban- 
deaux over  her  forehead. 

She  was  a  quick  little  body,  full  of  good-humor,  slightly  given 
to  repartee,  and  perhaps  rather  too  impatient  of  a  fool.  But 
though  averse  to  a  fool,  she  could  sympathise  with  folly.     A 


THE   WOODWARDS.  27 

great  poet  has  said  that  women  are  all  rakes  at  heart;  and 
there  was  something  of  the  rake  at  heart  about  Mrs.  Woodward. 
She  never  could  be  got  to  express  adequate  horror  at  fast  young 
men,  and  was  apt  to  have  her  own  sly  little  joke  at  women 
who  prided  themselves  on  being  punctilious.  She  could,  per- 
haps, the  more  safely  indulge  in  this,  as  scandal  had  never  even 
whispered  a  word  against  herself. 

With  her  daughters  she  lived  on  terms  almost  of  equality. 
The  two  elder  were  now  grown  up;  that  is,  they  were  respec- 
tively eighteen  and  seventeen  years  old.  They  were  devotedly 
attached  to  their  mother,  looked  on  her  as  the  only  perfect 
woman  in  existence,  and  would  willingly  do  nothing  that  could  vex 
her ;  but  they  perhaps  were  not  quite  so  systematically  obedient 
to  her  as  children  should  be  to  their  only  surviving  parent. 
Mrs.  Woodward,  however,  found  nothing  amiss,  and  no  one 
else  therefore  could  well  have  a  right  to  complain. 

They  were  both  pretty — but  Gertrude,  the  elder,  was  by  far 
the  more  strikingly  so.  They  were,  nevertheless,  much  alike ; 
they  both  had  rich  brown  hair,  which  they,  like  their  mother, 
wore  simply  parted  over  the  forehead.  They  were  both  some- 
what taller  than  her,  and  were  nearly  of  a  height.  But  in  ap- 
pearance, as  in  disposition,  Gertrude  carried  by  far  the  greater 
air  of  command.  She  was  the  handsomer  of  the  two,  and  the 
cleverer.  She  could  write  French  and  nearly  speak  it,  while 
her  sister  could  only  read  it.  She  could  play  difficult  pieces 
from  sight,  which  it  took  her  sister  a  morning's  pains  to  prac- 
tise. She  could  fill  in  and  finish  a  drawing,  while  her  sister 
was  still  struggling,  and  struggling  in  vain,  with  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  the  art. 

But  there  was  a  softness  about  Linda,  for  such  was  the  napie 
of  the  second  Miss  Woodward,  which  in  the  eyes  of  many  men 
made  up  both  for  the  superior  beauty  and  superior  talent  of 
Gertrude.  Gertrude  was,  perhaps,  hardly  so  soft  as  so  young  a 
girl  should  be.  In  her  had  been  magnified  that  spirit  of  gentle 
raillery  which  made  so  attractive  a  part  of  her  mother's  cha- 
racter. She  enjoyed  and  emulated  her  mother's  quick  sharp 
sayings,  but  she  hardly  did  so  with  her  mother's  grace,  and 
sometimes  attempted  it  with  much  more  than  her  mother's 
severity.  She  also  detested  fools;  but  in  promulgating  her 
opinion  on  this  subject,  she  was  too  apt  to  declare  who  the  fools 
were  whom  she  detested. 

It  may  be  thought  that  under  such  circumstances  there  could 
be  but  little  confidence  between  the  sisters ;  but,  nevertheless, 


28  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

in  their  early  days,  they  lived  together  as  sisters  should  do. 
Gertrude,  when  she  spoke  of  fools,  never  intended  to  include 
Linda  in  the  number;  and  Linda  appreciated  too  truly,  and 
admired  too  thoroughly,  her  sister's  beauty  and  talent  to  be 
jealous  of  either. 

Of  the  youngest  girl,  Katie,  it  is  not  necessary  at  present  to 
say  much.  At  this  time  she  was  but  thirteen  years  of  age,  and 
was  a  happy,  pretty,  romping  child.  She  gave  fair  promise  to 
be  at  any  rate  equal  to  her  sisters  in  beauty,  and  in  mind  was 
quick  and  intelligent.  Her  great  taste  was  for  boating,  and  the 
romance  of  her  life  consisted  in  laying  out  ideal  pleasure-grounds, 
and  building  ideal  castles  in  a  little  reedy  island  or  ait  w^hich 
lay  out  in  the  Thames,  a  few  perches  from  the  drawing-room 
windows. 

Such  was  the  family  of  the  Woodwards.  Harry  Norman's 
father  and  Mr.  Woodward  had  been  first  cousins,  and  hence  it 
had  been  quite  natural  that  when  Norman  came  up  to  reside  in 
London  he  should  be  made  welcome  to  Surbiton  Cottage.  He 
had  so  been  made  welcome,  and  had  thus  got  into  a  habit  of 
spending  his  Saturday  evenings  and  Sundays  at  the  home  of  his 
relatives.  In  summer  he  could  row  up  in  his  own  wherry,  and 
land  himself  and  carpet-bag  direct  on  the  Woodwards'  lawn, 
and  in  the  winter  he  came  down  by  the  Hampton  Court  5  p.m. 
train — and  in  each  case  he  returned  on  the  Monday  morning. 
Thus,  as  regards  that  portion  of  his  time  which  was  most  his 
own,  he  may  be  said  almost  to  have  lived  at  Surbiton  Cottage, 
and  if  on  any  Sunday  he  omitted  to  make  his  appearance,  the 
omission  was  ascribed  by  the  ladies  of  Hampton,  in  some  half- 
serious  sort  of  joke,  to  metropolitan  allurements  and  temptations 
which  he  ought  to  have  withstood. 

When  Tudor  and  Norman  came  to  live  together,  it  was  na- 
tural enough  that  Tudor  also  should  be  taken  down  to  Surbiton 
Cottage.  Norman  could  not  leave  him  on  every  Saturday 
without  telling  him  much  of  his  friends  whom  he  went  to  visit, 
and  he  could  hardly  say  much  of  them  without  offering  to  in- 
troduce his  companion  to  them.  Tudor  accordingly  went  there, 
and  it  soon  came  to  pass  that  he  also  very  frequently  spent  his 
Sundays  at  Hampton. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  at  this  time,  the  time  that  is  of 
Norman  and  Tudor's  first  entrance  on  their  London  life,  the 
girls  at  Surbiton  Cottage  were  mere  girls — that  is,  little  more 
than  children  ;  they  had  not,  as  it  were,  got  their  wings  so  as 
^to  be  able  to  fly  away  when  the  provocation  to  do  so  might 


THE  WOODWAEDS.  29 

come ;  they  were,  in  short,  Gertrude  and  Linda  Woodward,  and 
not  the  Miss  Woodwards  :  their  drawers  came  down  below  their 
frocks,  instead  of  their  frocks  below  their  drawers ;  and  in  lieu 
of  studying  the  French  language,  as  is  done  by  grown-up  ladies, 
they  did  French  lessons,  as  is  the  case  with  ladies  who  are  not 
grown-up.  Under  these  circumstances  there  was  no  embarrass- 
ment as  to  what  the  young  people  should  call  each  other,  and 
they  soon  became  very  intimate  as  Harry  and  Alaric,  Gertrude 
and  Linda. 

It  is  not,  however,  to  be  conceived  that  Alaric  Tudor  at 
once  took  the  same  footing  in  the  house  as  Norman.  This  was 
far  from  being  the  case.  In  the  first  place  he  never  slept  there, 
seeing  that  there  was  no  bed  for  him ;  and  the  most  confiden- 
tial intercourse  in  the  household  took  place  as  they  sat  cosy 
over  the  last  embers  of  the  drawing-room  fire,  chatting  about 
everything  and  nothing,  as  girls  always  can  do,  after  Tudor  had 
gone  away  to  his  bed  at  the  inn,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way.  And  then  Tudor  did  not  come  on  every  Saturday,  and 
at  first  did  not  do  so  without  express  invitation  ;  and  although 
the  girls  soon  habituated  themselves  to  the  familiarity  of  their 
new  friend's  Christian  name,  it  was  some  time  before  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward did  so. 

Two — three  years  soon  flew  by,  and  Linda  and  Gertrude  be- 
came the  Miss  Woodwards ;  their  frocks  were  prolonged,  their 
drawers  curtailed,  and  the  lessons  abandoned.  But  still  Alaric 
Tudor  and  Harry  Norman  came  to  Hampton  not  less  frequently 
than  of  yore,  and  the  world  resident  on  that  portion  of  the  left 
bank  of  the  Thames  found  out  that  Harry  Norman  and  Gertrude 
Woodward  were  to  be  man  and  wife,  and  that  Alaric  Tudor  and 
Linda  Woodward  were  to  go  through  the  same  ceremony. 
They  found  this  out,  or  said  that  they  had  done  so.  But  as 
usual,  the  world  was  wrong ;  at  least  in  part,  for  at  the  time  of 
which  we  are  speaking  no  word  of  love-making  had  passed,  at 
any  rate,  between  the  last-named  couple. 

And  what  was  Mrs.  Woodward  about  all  this  time  ?  Was 
she  match-making  or  match-marring ;  or  was  she  negligently 
omitting  the  duties  of  a  mother  on  so  important  an  occasion  ? 
She  was  certainly  neither  match-making  nor  match-marring ; 
but  it  was  from  no  negligence  that  she  was  thus  quiescent.  She 
knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  that  the  two  young  men  were  fit 
to  be  husbands  to  her  daughters,  and  she  felt  that  if  the  wish 
for  such  an  alliance  should  spring  up  between  either  pair,  there 
was  no  reason  why  she  should  interfere  to  prevent  it.     But  she 


30  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

felt  also  that  she  should  not  interfere  to  bring  any  such  matter 
to  pass.  These  young  people  had  by  chance  been  thrown  to- 
gether. Should  there  be  love-passages  among  them,  as  it  was 
natural  to  suppose  there  might  be,  it  would  be  well.  Should 
there  be  none  such,  it  would  be  well  also.  She  thoroughly 
trusted  her  own  children,  and  did  not  distrust  her  friends ;  and 
so  as  regards  Mrs.  Woodward  the  matter  was  allowed  to  rest. 

We  cannot  say  that  on  this  matter  we  quite  approve  of  her 
conduct,  though  we  cannot  but  admire  the  feeling  which  engen- 
dered it.  Her  daughters  were  very  young  ;  though  they  had 
made  such  positive  advances  as  have  been  above  described  to- 
Avards  the  discretion  of  womanhood,  they  were  of  the  age  when 
they  would  have  been  regarded  as  mere  boys  had  they  belonged 
to  the  other  sex.  The  assertion  made  by  Clara  Van  Arteveld, 
that  women  "  grow  upon  the  sunny  side  of  the  wall,"  is  doubt- 
less true  ;  but  young  ladies,  gifted  as  they  are  with  such  advan- 
tages, may  perhaps  be  thought  to  require  some  counsel,  some 
advice,  in  those  first  tender  years  in  which  they  so  often  have 
to  make  or  mar  their  fortunes. 

Not  that  Mrs.  Woodward  gave  them  no  advice ;  not  but  that 
she  advised  them  well  and  often — but  she  did  so,  perhaps,  too 
much  as  an  equal,  too  little  as  a  parent. 

But,  be  that  as  it  may — and  I  trust  my  readers  will  not  be 
inclined  so  early  in  our  story  to  lean  heavily  on  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward, whom  I  at  once  declare  to  be  my  own  chief  favorite  in 
the  tale — but,  be  that  as  it  may,  it  so  occurred  that  Gertrude, 
before  she  was  nineteen,  had  listened  to  vows  of  love  from 
Harry  Norman,  which  she  neither  accepted  nor  repudiated  ;  and 
that  Linda  had,  before  she  was  eighteen,  perhaps  unfortunately, 
taught  herself  to  think  it  probaJ)le  that  she  might  have  to  listen 
to  vows  of  love  from  Alaric  Tudor. 

There  had  been  no  concealment  between  the  young  men  as 
to  their  feelings.  Norman  had  told  his  friend  scores  of  times 
that  it  was  the  first  wish  of  his  heart  to  marry  Gertrude  Wood- 
ward ;  and  had  told  him,  moreover,  what  were  his  grounds  for 
hope,  and  what  his  reasons  for  despair. 

"  She  is  as  proud  as  a  queen,"  he  had  once  said  as  he  was 
rowing  from  Hampton  to  Searle's  Wharf,  and  lay  on  his  oars  as 
the  falling  tide  carried  his  boat  softly  past  the  green  banks  of 
Richmond, — "  she  is  as  proud  as  a  queen,  and  yet  as  timid  as  a 
fawn.  She  lets  me  tell  her  that  I  love  her,  but  she  will  not  say  a 
word  to  me  in  reply ;  as  for  touching  her  in  the  way  of  a  caress, 
I  should  as  soon  think  of  putting  my  arm  round  a  goddess." 


THE  WOODWARDS.  31 

"  And  why  not  put  3^0111-  arms  round  a  goddess  ?"  said  Alaric, 
who  was  perhaps  a  little  bolder  than  his  friend,  and  a  little  less 
romantic.  To  this  Harry  answered  nothing,  but,  laying  his 
back  to  his  work,  swept  on  past  the  gardens  of  Kew,  and  shot 
among  the  wooden  dangers  of  Putney  Bridge. 

"  I  wish  you  could  bring  yourself  to  make  up  to  Linda,"  said 
he,  resting  again  from  his  labors;  "that  would  make  the  matter 
so  much  easier." 

"Bring  myself!"  said  Alaric;  "what  you  mean  is,  that  you 
wish  I  could  bring  Linda  to  consent  to  be  made  up  to." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would  have  much  difficulty,"  said  Harry, 
finding  it  much  easier  to  answer  for  Linda  than  for  her  sister  ; 
"  but  perhaps  you  don't  admire  her  ?" 

"  I  think  her  by  far  the  prettier  of  the  two,"  said  Alaric. 

"  That's  nonsense,"  said  Harry,  getting  rather  red  in  the  face, 
and  feeling  rather  angry. 

"  Indeed  I  do ;  and  so  I  am  convinced  would  most  men.  You 
need  not  murder  me,  man.  You  want  me  to  make  up  to  Linda, 
and  surely  it  will  be  better  that  I  should  admire  my  own  wife 
than  yours." 

"  Oh !  you  may  admire  whom  you  like  ;  but  to  say  that  she 
is  prettier  than  Gertrude — why,  you  know,  it  is  nonsense." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  fellow  ;  then  to  oblige  you,  I'll  fall  in 
love  with  Gertrude." 

"  I  know  you  won't  do  that,"  said  Harry,  "  for  you  are  not  so 
very  fond  of  each  other ;  but,  joking  apart,  I  do  wish  so  you 
would  make  up  to  Linda." 

"  Well,  I  will  when  my  aunt  leaves  me  200Z.  a-year." 

There  was  no  answering  this ;  so  the  two  men  changed  the 
conversation  as  they  walked  up  together  from  the  boat  wharf, 
to  the  office  of  the  Weights  and  Measures. 

It  was  just  at  this  time  that  fortune  and  old  Mr.  Tudor  of  the 
Shropshire  Parsonage,  brought  Charley  Tudor  to  reside  with 
our  two  heroes.  For  the  first  month,  or  six  weeks,  Charley 
was  ruthlessly  left  by  his  companions  to  get  through  his  Sun- 
days as  best  he  could.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  spent  them  in 
divine  worship ;  but  it  may,  we  fear,  be  surmised  with  more 
probability,  that  he  paid  his  devotions  at  the  shrine  of  some 
very  inferior  public-house  deity  in  the  neighborhood  of  Somer- 
set House.  As  a  matter  of  course,  both  Norman  and  Tudor 
spoke  much  of  their  new  companion  to  the  ladies  at  Surbiton 
Cottage,  and  as  by  degrees  they  reported  somewhat  favorably 
of  his    improved  morals,   Mrs.   Woodward,  with  a  woman's 


32  THE   THEEE  CLERKS. 

true   kindness,   begged   that  lie   might  be  brought  down  to 
Hampton. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  him  very  rough,"  said  his  cousin 
Alaric. 

"  At  any  rate  you  will  not  find  him  a  fool,"  said  Norman,  who 
was  always  the  more  charitable  of  the  two. 

«  Thank  God  for  that !"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  and  if  he  will 
come  next  Saturday,  let  him  by  all  means  do  so.  Pray  give  my 
compliments  to  him,  and  tell  him  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  see 
him." 

And  thus  was  this  wild  wolf  to  be  led  into  the  sheep-cote ; 
this  infernal  navvy  to  be  introduced  among  the  angels  of  Surbi- 
ton  Cottage.  Mrs.  Woodward  thought  that  she  had  a  taste  for 
reclaiming  reprobates,  and  was  determined  to  try  her  hand  on 
Charley  Tudor. 

Charley  went,  and  his  debut  was  perfectly  successful.  We 
have  hitherto  only  looked  on  the  worst  side  of  his  character ; 
but  bad  as  his  character  was,  it  had  a  better  side.  He  was 
good-natured  in  the  extreme,  kind-hearted,  and  aflfectionate ; 
and,  though  too  apt  to  be  noisy  and  even  boisterous  when  much 
encouraged,  was  not  without  a  certain  innate  genuine  modesty, 
which  the  knowledge  of  his  own  iniquities  had  rather  increased 
than  blunted  ;  and,  as  Norman  had  said  of  him,  he  was  no  fool. 
His  education  had  not  been  good,  and  he  had  done  nothing  by 
subsequent  reading  to  make  up  for  this  deficiency ;  but  he  was 
well  endowed  with  mother-wit,  and  owed  none  of  his  deficien- 
cies to  nature's  churlishness. 

He  came,  and  was  well  received.  The  girls  thought  he 
would  surely  get  drunk  before  he  left  the  table,  and  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward feared  the  austere  precision  of  her  parlor-maid  might  be 
off'ended  by  some  unworthy  familiarity ;  but  no  accident  of 
either  kind  seemed  to  occur.  He  came  to  the  tea-table  per- 
fectly sober,  and,  as  far  as  Mrs.  Woodward  could  tell,  was 
unaware  of  the  presence  of  the  parlor-maiden. 

On  the  Sunday  morning,  Charley  went  to  Church,  just  like 
a  Christian.  Now  Mrs.  Woodward  certainly  had  expected  that 
he  would  have  spent  those  two  hours  in  smoking  and  attacking 
the  parlor-maid.  He  went  to  church,  however,  and  seemed  in 
no  whit  astray  there  ;  stood  up  when  others  stood  up,  and  sat 
down  when  others  sat  down.  After  all,  the  infernal  navvies, 
bad  as  they  doubtless  were,  knew  something  of  the  recognised 
manners  of  civilised  life. 

Thus  Charley  Tudor  ingratiated  himself  at  Surbiton  Cottage, 


THE  WOODWARDS.  33 

and  when  he  left,  received  a  kind  intimation  from  its  mistres.s 
that  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him  again.  No  day  was  fixed, 
and  so  Charley  could  not  accompany  his  cousin  and  Ilarr}'- 
Norman  on  the  next  Saturday ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  he 
got  another  direct  invitation,  and  so  he  also  became  intimate  at 
Hampton.  There  could  be  no  danger  of  any  one  falling  in  love 
with  him,  for  Katie  was  still  a  child. 

Things  stood  thus  at  Surbiton  Cottage  when  Mrs.  Woodward 
received  a  proposition  from  a  relative  of  her  own,  which  sur- 
prised them  all  not  a  little.  This  was  from  a  certain  Captain 
Cuttwater,  who  was  a  maternal  uncle  to  Mrs.  Woodward,  and 
consisted  of  nothing  less  than  an  offer  to  come  and  live  with 
them  for  the  remaining  term  of  his  natural  life.  Now  Mrs. 
Woodward's  girls  had  seen  very  little  of  their  grand-uncle,  and 
what  little  they  had  seen  had  only  taught  them  to  laugh  at 
him.  When  his  name  was  mentioned  in  the  family  conclave, 
he  was  always  made  the  subject  of  some  little  feminine  joke  ; 
and  Mrs.  Woodw^ard,  though  she  always  took  her  uncle's  part, 
did  so  in  a  manner  that  made  them  feel  that  he  was  fair  game 
for  their  quizzing. 

When  the  proposal  was  first  enunciated  to  the  girls,  they 
one  and  all,  for  Katie  was  one  of  the  council,  suggested  that  it 
should  be  declined  with  many  thanks. 

"  He'll  take  us  all  for  midshipmen,"  said  Linda,  "  and  stop 
our  rations,  and  mast-head  us  whenever  we  displease  him." 

"I  am  sure  he  is  a  cross  old  hunks,  though  mamma  says 
he's  not,"  said  Katie,  with  all  the  impudence  of  spoilt 
fourteen. 

"He'll  interfere  with  every  one  of  our  pursuits,"  said 
Gertrude,  more  thoughtfully,  "  and  be  sure  to  quarrel  with  the 
young  men." 

But  Mrs.  Woodward,  though  she  had  consulted  her 
daughters,  had  arguments  of  her  own  in  favor  of  Captain 
Cuttwater's  proposition,  which  she  had  not  yet  made  known 
to  them.  Good-humored  and  happy  as  she  always  was,  she 
had  her  cares  in  the  world.  Her  income  was  only  4001. 
a-year ;  and  that,  now  that  the  Income  Tax  had  settled  down 
on  it,  was  barely  suflScient  for  her  modest  wants.  A  moiety  of 
this  died  with  her,  and  the  remainder  would  be  but  a  poor 
support  for  her  three  daughters,  if  at  the  time  of  her  death  it 
should  so  chance  that  she  should  leave  them  in  want  of  support. 
She  had  always  regarded  Captain  Cuttwater  as  a  probable 
source  of  future    aid.     He  was  childless  and   unmarried,  and 


34  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

had  not,  as  far  as  she  was  aware,  another  relative  in  the  world. 
It  would,  therefore,  under  any  circumstances,  be  bad  policy  to 
offend  him.  But  the  letter  in  which  he  had  made  his  offer 
had  been  of  a  very  peculiar  kind.     He  had  begun  by  saying 

that  he  was  to  be  turned  out  of  his  present  berth-by  .a  d 

Whior  Government  on  account  of  his  asre,  he  beino;  as  young;  a 
man  as  ever  he  had  been ;  that  it  behoved  him  to  look  out 
for  a  place  of  residence,  in  which  he  might  live,  and,  if  it 
should  so  please  God,  die  also.  He  then  said  that  he  expected 
to  pay  200/.  a-year  for  his  board  and  lodging,  which  he  thought 
might  as  well  go  to  his  niece  as  to  some  shark,  who  would 
probably  starve  him.  He  also  said,  that  poor  as  he  was  and 
always  had  been,  he  had  contrived  to  scrape  together  a  few 
hundred  pounds;  that  he  was  well  aware  that  if  he  lived 
among  strangers  he  should  be  done  out  of  every  shilling  of  it ; 
but  that  if  his  niece  would  receive  him,  he  hoped  to  be  able  to 
keep  it  together  for  the  benefit  of  his  grand-nieces,  &c. 

Now  Mrs.  Woodward  knew  her  uncle  to  be  an  honest- 
minded  man ;  she  knew  also,  that,  in  spite  of  his  protestation 
as  to  being  a  very  poor  man,  he  had  saved  money  enough  to 
make  him  of  some  consequence  wherever  he  went;  and  she 
therefore  conceived  that  she  could  not  with  prudence  send 
him  to  seek  a  home  among  chance  strangers.  She  explained 
as  much  of  this  to  the  girls  as  she  thought  proper,  and  ended 
the  matter  by  making  them  understand  that  Captain  Cuttwater 
was  to  be  received. 

On  the  Saturday  after  this  the  three  scions  of  the  Civil 
Service  were  all  at  Surbiton  Cottage,  and  it  will  show  how 
far  Charley  had  then  made  good  his  ground,  to  state  that  the 
coming  of  the  captain  was  debated  in  his  presence. 

"And  when  is  the  great  man  to  be  here?"  said  Norman. 

"  At  once,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward ;  "  that  is, 
perhaps,  before  the  end  of  this  week,  and  certainly  before  the 
end  of  next." 

"  And  what  is  he  like  ?"  said  Alaric. 

"Why,  he  has  a  tail  hanging  down  behind,  like  a  cat  or  a 
dog,"  said  Katie. 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  Miss,"  said  Gertrude.  "  As  he  is  to 
come  he  must  be  treated  with  respect ;  but  it  is  a  great  bore. 
To  me  it  will  destroy  all  the  pleasures  of  life." 

"  Nonsense,  Gertrude,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward  ;  "  it  is  almost 
wicked  of  you  to  say  so.  Destroy  all  the  pleasure  of  life  to 
have  an  old  gentleman  live  in  the  same  house  with  you ! — you 
ought  to  be  more  moderate,  my  dear,  in  what  you  say." 


CAPTAIN   CUTTWATEK.  05 

**  That's  all  very  well,  mamma,"  said  Gertrude,  "  but  you 
know  you  don't  like  liim  yourself." 

"But  is  it  true  that  Captain  Cuttwater  wears  a  pigtail?" 
asked  Norman. 

"I  don't  care  what  he  wears,"  said  Gertrude;  "he  may  wear 
three  if  he  likes." 

"  Oh  !  I  wish  he  would,"  said  Katie,  laughing ;  "  that  would 
be  so  delicious.  Oh,  Linda,  fancy  Captain  Cuttwater  with  three 
pigtails !" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Katie,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward, 
"  but  your  uncle  does  not  wear  even  one ;  he  once  did,  but  he 
cut  it  off  long  since." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Katie. 

"  I  suppose  he'll  want  to  dine  early,  and  go  to  bed  early  ?" 
said  Linda. 

"  His  going  to  bed  early  would  be  a  great  blessing,"  said  Ger- 
trude, mindful  of  their  midnight  conclaves  on  Saturdays  and 
Sundays. 

"  But  his  getting  up  early  won't  be  a  blessing  at  all,"  said 
Linda,  who  had  a  weakness  on  that  subject. 

"Talking  of  bed,  Harry,  you'll  have  the  worst  of  it,"  said 
Katie,  "  for  the  Captain  is  to  have  your  room." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  sighing  gently,  "  we 
shall  no  longer  have  a  bed  for  you,  Harry ;  that  is  the  worst  of 
it." 

Harry  of  course  assured  her  that  if  that  was  the  worst  of  it 
there  was  nothing  very  bad  in  it.  He  could  have  a  bed  at  the 
inn  as  well  as  Alaric  and  Charley.  The  amount  of  that  evil 
would  only  be  half-a-crown  a  night. 

And  thus  the  advent  of  Captain  Cuttwater  was  discussed. 


CHAPTER  ly. 

CAPTAIN    CUTTWATER. 

Captain  Cuttwater  had  not  seen  much  service  afloat ;  that 
is,  he  had  not  been  personally  concerned  in  many  of  those  sea- 
engagements  which  in  and  about  the  time  of  Nelson  gave  so 
great  a  halo  of  glory  to  the  British  Lion  ;  nor  had  it  even  been 
permitted  to  him  to  take  a  prominent  part  in  such  minor  affairs 
as  have  since  occurred  ;  he  had  not  the  opportunity  of  dis- 
tinguishing himself  either  at  the  battle  of  Navarino  or  the 
bombarding  of  Acre;  and,  unfortunately  for  his  ambition,  the 


36  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

period  of  his  retirement  came  before  that  great  Baltic  cam- 
paign, in  which,  had  he  been  there,  he  would  doubtless  have 
distinguished  himself  as  did  so  many  others.  His  earliest  years 
were  spent  in  cruising  among  the  West  Indies ;  he  then  came 
home  and  spent  some  considerable  portion  of  his  life  in  idleness 
— if  that  time  can  be  said  to  have  been  idly  spent  which  he 
devoted  to  torturing  the  Admiralty  with  applications,  remon- 
strances, and  appeals.  Then  he  was  rated  as  thirii-<iJeutenant 
on  the  books  of  some  worm-eaten  old  mati-oiPwar" at  Ports- 
mouth, and  gave  up  his  time  to  looking  after  the  stowage  of 
anchors,  and  counting  fathoms  of  rope.  At  last  he  was  again 
sent  afloat  as  senior  lieutenant  in  a  ten-gun  brig,  and  cruised  for 
some  time  off  the  coast  of  Africa,  hunting  for  slavers ;  and  re- 
turning after  a  while  from  this  entnfprising~Bmpk)jment,  he  re- 
ceived a  sort  of  amphibious  appointment  at  Devonport.  "^Tiat 
his  duties  were  here,  the  author,  being  in  all  points  a  landsman, 
is  unable  to  describe.  Those  who  were  inclined  to  ridicule 
Captain  Cuttwater  declared  that  the  most  important  of  them 
consisted  in  seeing  that  the  midshipmen  in  and  about  the  dock- 
yard washed  their  faces,  and  put  on  clean  linen  not  less  often 
than  three  times  a  week.  According  to  his  own  account,  he 
had  many  things  of  a  higher  nature  to  attend  to ;  and,  indeed, 
hardly  a  ship  sank  or  swam  in  Hamoaze  except  by  his  special 
permission,  for  a  space  of  twenty  years,  if  his  own  view  of  his 
own  career  may  be  accepted  as  correct. 

He  had  once  declared  to  certain  naval  acquaintances,  over 
his  third  glass  of  grog,  that  he  regarded  it  as  his  birthright  to  be 
an  Admiral ;  but  at  the  age  of  seventy-two  he  had  not  yet  ac- 
quired his  birthright,  and  the  probability  of  his  ever  attaining 
it  was  becoming  very  small  indeed.  He  was  still  bothering 
Lords  and  Secretaries  of  the  Admiralty  for  further  promotion, 
when  he  was  astounded  by  being  informed  by  the  Port  Ad- 
miral that  he  was  to  be  made  happy  by  halfway  and  a  .pension. 
The  Admiral,  in  communicating  the'infelTigence,  had  pretended 
to  think  that  he  w^as  giving  the  .Captain  information  which  could 
not  be  otherwise  than  grateful  toTii^-but  he  was  not  the  less 
aware  that  the  old  man  would  be  furious  at  being  so  treated. 
What,  pension  him  !  put  him  on  half-pay — shelf  him  for  life, 
while  he  was  still  anxiously  expecting  that  promotion,  that  call 
to  higher  duties  which  had  so  long  been  his  due,  and  which, 
now  that  his  powers  were  matured,  could  hardly  be  longer  de- 
nied to  him !  And  after  all  that  he  had  done  for  his  country — 
his  ungrateful,  thankless,  ignorant  country — was  he  thus  to  be 


CAPTAIN    CUTTWATEK.  37 

treated  ?  Was  he  to  be  turned  adrtft  without  any  mark  of  honor, 
any  special  guerdon,  any  sign  of  his  Sovereign's  favor  to  testify 
as  to  his  faithful  servitude  of  sixty  years'  devotion?  He,  who 
had  regarded  it  as  his  merest  right  to  be  an  Admiral,  and  had 
long  indulged  the  hope  of  being  greeted  in  the  streets  of  Devon- 
port  as  Sir  Bartholomew  Cuttwater,  K.C.B.,  was  he  to  be  thus 
thrown  aside  in  his  prime,  with  no  other  acknowledgement  than 
the  bare  income  to  which  he  was  entitled  ! 

It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say,  that  no  old  oflScers  who  have 
lacked  the  means  to  distinguish  themselves,  retire  from  either 
of  our  military  services,  free  from  the  bitter  disappointment 
and  sour  feelings  of  neglected  worth,  which  Captain  Cuttwater 
felt  so  keenly.  A  clergyman,  or  a  doctor,  or  a  lawyer,  feels 
himself  no  whit  disgraced  if  he  reaches  the  end  of  his  worldly 
labors  without  special  note  or  honor.  But  to  a  soldier  or  a 
sailor,  such  indifference  to  his  merit  is  wormwood.  It  is  the 
bane  of  the  professions.  Nine  men  out  of  ten  who  go  into  it 
must  live  discontented,  and  die  disappointed. 

Captain  Cuttwater  had  no  idea  that  he  was  an  old  man.  He 
had  lived  for  so  many  years  among  men'of '}ris--ewfi-stamp, 
who  had  grown  grey  and  bald,  and  rickety,  and  weak  alongside 
of  him,  that  he  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing  that  he  was 
more  grey  or  more  rickety  than  his  neighbors.  No  children 
had  become  men  and  women  at  his  feet ;  no  new  race  had 
gone  out  into  the  w^orld  and  fought  their  battles  under  his 
notice.  One  set  of  midshipmen  had  succeeded  to  another,  but 
his  old  comrades  in  the  news-rooms  and  lounging-places  at 
Devonport  had  remained  the  same ;  and  Captain  Cuttwater 
had  never  learnt  to  think  that  he  was  not  doing,  and  was  not 
able  to  do  good  service  for  his  country. 

The  very  name  of  Captain  Cuttwater  was  odious  to  every 
clerk  at  the  Admiralty.  He^  lTke"'all  naval  officers,  hated  the 
Admiralty,  and  thought,  that  of  all  Englishmen,  those  five  who 
had  been  selected  to  sit  there  in  high  places  as  joint  lords  wxre 
the  most  incapable.  He  pestered  them  with  continued  and 
almost  continuous  applications  on  subjects  of  all  sorts.  He 
w^as  always  asking  for  increased  allowances,  advanced  rank, 
more  assistance,  less  w^ork,  higher  privileges,  immunities  which 
could  not  be  granted,  and  advantages  to  which  he  had  no 
claim.  He  never  took  answers,  but  made  every  request  the 
subject  of  a  prolonged  correspondence;  till  at  last  some 
energetic  Assistant-Secretary  declared  that  it  should  no  longer 
be  borne,  and  Captain  Cuttwater  was  dismissed  with  pension 


38  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

and  half-pay.  During  his  service  he  had  contrived  to  save 
some  four  or  five  thousand  pounds,  and  now  he  was  about  to 
retire  with  an  assured  income  adequate  to.^11  his  wants.  The 
public  who  had  the  paying  of  Captain  Cuttwater  may,  perhaps, 
think  that  he  was  amply  remunerated  for  what  he  had  done ; 
but  the  captain  himself  entertained  a  very  different  opinion. 

Such  is  the  view  which  we  are  obliged  to  take  of  the  pro- 
fessional side  of  Captain  Cuttwater's  character.  But  the 
professional  side  was  by  far  the  worst.  Counting  fathoms  of 
rope  and  looking  after  unruly  midshipmen  on  shore  are  not 
duties  capable  of 'bringing  out  in  high  relief  the  better  traits  of 
a  man's  character.  TJncle  Bat,  as  during  the  few  last  years  of 
his  life  he  was  always  called  at  Surbiton  Cottage,  was  a  gentle- 
man and  a  man  of  honor,  in  spite  of  anything  that  might  be 
said  to  the  contrary  at  the  Admiralty.  He  was  a  man  with  a 
soft  heart,  though  the  end  of  his  nose  was  so  large,  so  red,  and 
so  pimply ;  and  rough  as  was  his  usage  to  little  midshipmen 
when  his  duty  caused  him  to  encounter  them  in  a  body,  he 
had  befriended  many  a  one  singly  with  kind  words  and  an  open 
hand.  The  young  rogues  would  unmercifully  quiz  Old  Nosey, 
for  so  Captain  Cuttwater  was  generally  called  in  Devonport, 
whenever  they  could  safely  do  so;  but,  nevertheless,  in  their 
young  distresses  they  knew  him  for  their  friend,  and  were  not 
slow  to  come  to  him. 

In  person  Captain  Cuttwater  was  a  tall,  heavy  man,  on 
w^hose  iron  constitution  hogsheads  of  Hollands  and  water 
seemed  to  have  had  no  very  powerful  effect.  He  was  much 
given  to  profane  oaths ;  but  knowing  that  manners  required 
that  he  should  refrain  before  ladies,  and  being  unable  to  bring 
his  tongue  sufficiently  under  command  to  do  so,  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  "  craving  the  ladies'  pardon  "  after  every  slip. 

All  that  was  really  remarkable  in  Uncle  Bat's  appearance 
was  included  in  his  nose.  It  had  always  been  a  generous, 
weighty,  self-confident  nose,  inviting  to  itself  more  observation 
than  any  of  its  brother  features  demanded.  But  in  latter  years 
it  had  spread  itself  out  in  soft,  porous  red  excrescences,  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  make  it  really  deserving  of  considerable  atten- 
tion. No  stranger  ever  passed  Captain  Cuttwater  in  the  streets 
of  Devonport  without  asking  who  he  was,  or,  at  any  rate,  spe- 
cially noticing  him. 

It  must,  of  course,  be  admitted,  that  a  too  strongly  pro- 
nounced partiality  for  alcoholic  drink  had  produced  these  defects 
in  Captain  Cuttwater's  nasal  organ ;  and  yet  he  was  a  most  staunch 


CAPTAIN   CUTT WATER.  89 

friend  of  temperance.  No  man  alive  or  dead  had  ever  seen  Captain 
Cuttwater  the  worse  for  liquor;  at  least  so  boasted  the  Captain 
himself,  and  there  were  none,  at  any  rate  in  Devonport,  to  give 
him  the  lie.  Woe  betide  the  midshipman  whom  he  should  see 
elated  with  too  much  wine  ;  and  even  to  the  common  sailor  who 
should  be  tipsy  at  the  wrong  time  he  would  show  no  mercy. 
Most  eloquent  were  the  discourses  which  he  preached  against 
drunkenness,  and  they  always  ended  with  a  reference  to  his 
own  sobriety.  The  truth  was,  that  drink  would  hardly  make 
Captain  Cuttwater  drunk.  It  left  his  brain  untouched,  but  pun- 
ished his  nose. 

Mrs.  Woodward  had  seen  her  uncle  but  once  since  she  had 
become  a  widow.  He  had  then  come  up  to  London  to  attack 
the  Admiralty  at  close  quarters,  and  had  sojourned  for  three  or 
four  days  at  Surbiton  Cottage.  This  was  now  some  ten  years 
since,  and  the  girls  had  forgotten  even  what  he  was  like.  Great 
preparations  were  made  for  him.  Though  the  summer  had 
nearly  commenced,  a  large  fire  was  kept  burning  in  his  bed- 
room— his  bed  was  newly  hung  with  new  curtains  ;  two  feather 
beds  were  piled  on  each  other,  and  everything  was  done  which 
five  women  could  think  desirable  to  relieve  the  ailings  of  suff"er- 
ing  age.  The  fact,  however,  was,  that  Captain  Cuttwater  was 
accustomed  to  a  small  tent  bedstead  in  a  room  without  a  carpet, 
that  he  usually  slept  on  a  single  mattress,  and  that  he  never  had 
a  fire  in  his  bedroom,  even  in  the  depth  of  winter. 

Travelling  from  Devonport  to  London  is  now  an  easy  matter ; 
and  Captain  Cuttwater,  old  as  he  was,  found  himself  able  to 
get  through  to  Hampton  in  one  day.  Mrs.  Woodward  went  to 
meet  him  at  Hampton  Court  in  a  fly,  and  conveyed  him  to  his 
new  home,  together  with  a  carpet-bag,  a  cocked  hat,  a  sword, 
and  a  very  small  portmanteau.  When  she  asked  after  the  re- 
mainder of  his  luggage,  he  asked  her  what  more  lumber  she 
supposed  he  wanted.  No  more  lumber  at  any  rate  made  its 
appearance,  then  or  afterw^ards ;  and  the  fly  proceeded  with  an 
easy  load  to  Surbiton  Cottage. 

There  was  great  anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  girls  when  the 
wheels  were  heard  to  stop  at  the  front  door.  Gertrude  kept 
her  place  steadily  standing  on  the  rug  in  the  drawing-room ; 
Linda  ran  to  the  door  and  then  back  again  ;  but  Katie  bolted 
out  and  ensconced  herself  behind  the  parlor-maid,  who  stood 
at  the  open  door,  looking  eagerly  forth  to  get  the  first  view  of 
Uncle  Bat. 

"  So  here  you  are,  Bessie,  as  snug  as  ever,"  said  the  captain, 


40  THE   THREE   CLEEKS. 

as  he  let  himself  ponderously  down  from  the  fly.  Katie  had 
never  before  heard  her  mother  called  Bessie,  and  had  never  seen 
anything  approaching  in  size  or  color  to  such  a  nose,  conse- 
quently she  ran  away  frightened. 

"  That's  Gertrude — is  it  V  said  the  captain. 

"  Gertrude,  uncle  ?  Why  Gertrude  is  a  grown-up  woman  now. 
That's  Katie,  whom  you  remember  an  infant." 

"  God  bless  my  soul !"  said  the  captain,  as  though  he  thought 
that  girls  must  grow  twice  quicker  at  Hampton  than  they  did 
at  Devonport  or  elsewhere,  "  God  bless  my  soul !" 

He  was  then  ushered  into  the  drawing-room,  and  introduced 
in  form  to  his  grand-nieces.  "This  is  Gertrude,  uncle,  and 
this  Linda;  there  is  just  enough  difference  for  you  to  know 
them  apart.  And  this  Katie.  Come  here,  Katie,  and  kiss  your 
uncle." 

Katie  came  up,  hesitated,  looked  horrified,  but  did  manage  to 
get  her  face  somewhat  close  to  the  old  man's  without  touching 
the  tremendous  nose,  and  then  having  gone  through  this  peril 
she  retreated  again  behind  the  sofa. 

"  Well ;  bless  my  stars,  Bessie,  you  don't  tell  me  those  are 
your  children  ?" 

"  Indeed,  uncle,  I  believe  they  are.  It's  a  sad  tale  for  me  to 
tell,  is  it  not  ?"  said  the  blooming  mother  with  a  laugh. 

"  Why,  they'll  be  looking  out  for  husbands  next,"  said  Uncle 
Bat. 

"  Oh !  they're  doing  that  already,  every  day,"  said  Katie. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !"  laughed  Uncle  Bat ;  *'  I  suppose  so,  I  suppose 
so  ; — ha,  ha,  ha !" 

Gertrude  turned  away  to  the  window,  disgusted  and  angry, 
and  made  up  her  mind  to  hate  Uncle  Bat  for  ever  afterwards. 
Linda  made  a  little  attempt  to  smile,  and  felt  somewhat  glad  in 
her  heart  that  her  uncle  was  a  man  who  could  indulge  in  a 
joke. 

He  was  then  taken  up  stairs  to  his  bedroom,  and  here  he 
greatly  frightened  Katie,  and  much  scandalised  the  parlor-maid 
by  declaring,  immediately  on  his  entering  the  room,  that  "  it 
was  d hot,  d ation  hot ;  craving  your  pardon,  ladies !" 

"  We  thought,  uncle,  you'd  like  a  fire,"  began  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward, "as " 

"  A  fire  in  June,  when  I  can  hardly  carry  my  coat  on  my 
back!" 

"  It's  the  last  day  of  May  now,"  said  Katie,  timidly,  from 
behind  the  bed-curtains. 


CAPTAIN   CUTTWATER.  41 

This,  however,  did  not  satisfy  the  captain,  and  orders  were 
forthwith  given  that  the  fire  should  be  taken  away,  the  curtains 
stripped  off,  the  feather  beds  removed,  and  everything  reduced 
to  pretty  much  the  same  state  in  which  it  had  usually  been  left 
for  Ilarry  Norman's  accommodation.  So  much  for  all  the  femi- 
nine care  which  had  been  thrown  away  upon  the  consideration 
of  Uncle  Bat's  infirmities. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !"  said  he,  wiping  his  brow  with  a  huge 
colored  handkerchief  as  bio;  as  a  mainsail,  "  one  nio-ht  in  such  a 
furnace  as  that  would  have  brought  on  the  gout." 

He  had  dined  in  town,  and  by  the  time  that  his  chamber 
had  been  stripped  of  its  appendages,  he  was  nearly  ready  for 
bed.     Before  he  did  so,  he  was  asked  to  take  a  glass  of  sherry. 

"  Ah !  sherry,"  said  he,  taking  up  the  bottle  and  putting  it 
down  again.  "  Sherry,  ah !  yes ;  very  good  wine,  I  am  sure. 
You  haven't  a  drop  of  rum  in  the  house,  have  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Woodward  declared  with  sorrow  that  she  had  not. 

"  Or  Hollands  ?"  said  Uncle  Bat.  But  the  ladies  of  Surbiton 
Cottage  were  unsupplied  also  with  Hollands. 

"  Gin  ?"  suggested  the  captain,  almost  in  despair. 

Mrs.  Woodward  had  no  gin,  but  she  could  send  out  and  get 
it ;  and  the  first  evening  of  Captain  Cuttwater's  visit  saw  Mrs. 
Woodward's  own  parlor-maid  standing  at  the  bar  of  the  Green 
Dragon,  while  two  gills  of  spirits  were  being  measured  out  for 
her. 

"  Only  for  the  respect  she  owed  to  Missus,"  as  she  afterwards 
declared,  "  she  never  would  have  so  demeaned  herself  for  all  the 
captains  in  the  Queen's  battalions." 

The  captain,  however,  got  his  grog;  and  having  enlarged 
somewhat  vehemently  while  he  drank  it  on  the  iniquities  of 
those  scoundrels  at  the  Admiralty,  took  himself  off  to  bed ;  and 
left  his  character  and  peculiarities  to  the  tender  mercies  of  his 
nieces. 

The  following  day  was  Friday,  and  on  the  Saturday  Norman 
and  Tudor  were  to  come  down  as  a  matter  of  course.  During 
the  long  days,  they  usually  made  their  appearance  after  dinner; 
but  they  had  now  been  specially  requested  to  appear  in  good 
orderly  time,  in  honor  of  the  captain.  Their  advent  had  been 
of  course  spoken  of,  and  Mrs.  Woodward  had  explained  to 
Uncle  Bat  that  her  cousin  Harry  usually  spent  his  Sundays  at 
Hampton,  and  that  he  usually  also  brought  with  him  a  friend  of 
his,  a  Mr.  Tudor.  To  all  this,  as  a  matter  of  course,  Uncle  Bat 
had  as  yet  no  objection  to  make. 


42  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

The  young  men  came,  and  were  introduced  with  due  cere- 
mony. Surbiton  Cottage,  however,  during  dinner-time,  was 
very  unlike  what  it  had  been  before,  in  the  opinion  of  all  the 
party  there  assembled.  The  girls  felt  themselves  called  upon, 
they  hardly  knew  why,  to  be  somewhat  less  intimate  in  their 
manner  with  the  young  men  than  they  customarily  w^ere ;  and 
Harry  and  Alaric,  with  quick  instinct,  reciprocated  the  feeling. 
Mrs.  Woodward,  even,  assumed  involuntarily  somewhat  of  a 
company  air;  and  Uncle  Bat,  who  sat  at  the  bottom  of  the 
table,  in  the  place  usually  assigned  to  Norman,  was  awkward  in 
doing  the  honors  of  the  house  to  guests  who  were  in  fact  much 
more  at  home  there  than  himself. 

After  dinner  the  young  people  strolled  out  into  the  garden, 
and  Katie,  as  was  her  wont,  insisted  on  Harry  Norman  rowing 
her  over  to  her  damp  paradise  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  He 
attempted,  vainly,  to  induce  Gertrude  to  accompany  them.  Ger- 
trude was  either  coy  with  her  lover,  or  indifferent;  for  very 
few  were  the  occasions  on  which  she  could  be  induced  to  gra- 
tify him  with  the  rapture  of  a  tete-d-tete  encounter.  So  that, 
in  fact,  Harry  Norman's  Sunday  visits  were  generally  moments 
of  expected  bliss  of  which  the  full  fruition  was  but  seldom  at- 
tained. So  while  Katie  went  off  to  the  island,  Alaric  and  the 
two  girls  sat  under  a  spreading  elm  tree  and  watched  the  little 
boat  as  it  shot  across  the  water. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  Uncle  Bat  ?"  said  Gertrude. 
"  Well,  I  am  sure  he's  a  good  sort  of  fellow,  and  a  very  gal- 
lant officer,  but " 

"  But  what  ?"  said  Linda. 

"  It's  a  thousand  pities  he  should  have  ever  been  removed 
from  Devonport,  where  I  am  sure  he  was  both  useful  and  orna- 
mental." 

Both  the  girls  laughed  cheerily;  and  as  the  sound  came 
across  the  water  to  Norman's  ears,  he  repented  himself  of  his 
good-nature  to  Katie,  and  determined  that  her  sojourn  in  the 
favorite  island  should,  on  this  occasion,  be  very  short. 

"  But  he  is  to  pay  mamma  a  great  deal  of  money,"  said  Linda, 
"  and  his  coming  will  be  a  great  benefit  to  her  in  that  way." 

"  There  ought  to  be  something  to  compensate  for  the  bore," 
said  Gertrude. 

"  We  must  only  make  the  best  of  him,"  said  Alaric.  "  For 
my  part,  I  am  rather  fond  of  old  gentlemen  with  long  noses ; 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  not  quite  so  fond  of  us.  I 
thought  he  looked  rather  shy  at  Harry  and  me." 


CAPTAIN   CUTTWATER.  43 

Both  the  girls  protested  against  this,  and  declared  that  there 
could  be  notiiing  in  it. 

"  Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Gertrude,"  said  Alaric,  "  I  am 
quite  sure  that  he  looks  on  me,  especially,  as  an  interloper ;  and 
yet  I'll  bet  you  a  pair  of  gloves  I  am  his  favorite  before  a  month 
is  over." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  Linda  is  to  be  his  favorite,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Indeed  I  am  not,"  said  Linda.  "  I  liked  him  very  well  till 
he  drank  three  huge  glasses  of  gin-and-water  last  night,  but  I 
never  can  fancy  him  after  that.  You  can't  conceive,  Alaric, 
what  the  drawing-room  smelt  like.  I  suppose  he'll  do  the  same 
every  evening." 

"  Well,  what  can  you  expect  ?"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  if  mamma 
will  have  an  old  sailor  to  live  with  her,  of  course  he'll  drink 
grog-;'  _ 

W  hile  this  was  going  on  in  the  garden,  Mrs.  Woodward  sat 
dutifully  with  her  uncle  while  he  sipped  his  obnoxious  toddy, 
and  answered  his  questions  about  their  two  friends. 

"  They  were  both  in  the  Weights  and  Measures,  by  far  the 
most  respectable  public  office  in  London,"  as  she  told  him,  "  and 
both  doing  extremely  well  there.  They  were,  indeed,  young- 
men  sure  to  distinguish  themselves  and  get  on  in  the  world. 
Had  this  not  been  so,  she  might  perhaps  have  hesitated  to  re- 
ceive them  so  frequently,  and  on  such  intimate  terms,  at  Surbi- 
ton  Cottage."  This  she  said  in  a  half-apologetic  manner,  and 
yet  with  a  feeling  of  anger  at  herself  that  she  should  condescend 
to  apologise  to  any  one  as  to  her  own  conduct  in  her  own 
house. 

"  They  are  very  nice  young  men,  I  am  sure,"  said  Uncle 
Bat. 

"  Indeed  they  are,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  And  very  civil  to  the  young  ladies,"  said  Uncle  Bat. 

"  They  have  known  them  since  they  were  children,  uncle  ; 
and  of  course  that  makes  them  more  intimate  than  young  men 
generally  are  with  young  ladies ;"  and  again  Mrs.  Woodward 
was  angry  with  herself  for  making  any  excuses  on  the  subject. 

"Are  they  well  off?"  asked  the  prudent  captain. 

"  Harry  Norman  is  very,  well  off;  he  has  a  private  fortune. 
Both  of  them  have  excellent  situations." 

"  To  my  w^ay  of  thinking  that  other  chap  is  the  better 
fellow.  At  any  rate  he  seems  to  have  more  gumption  about 
him." 

"  Why,  uncle,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  think 


44  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

Harry  Norman  a  fool  ?"  said  Mrs.  Woodward.  Harry  Norman 
was  Mrs.  Woodward's  special  fHend,  and  she  fondly  indulged 
the  hope  of  seeing  him  in  time  become  the  husband  of  her 
elder  and  favorite  daughter ;  if,  indeed,  she  can  be  fairly  said  to 
have  had  a  favorite  child. 

Captain  Cuttwater  poured  out  another  glass  of  rum,  and 
dropped  the  subject. 

Soon  afterwards  the  whole  party  came  in  from  the  lawn. 
Katie  was  all  draggled  and  wet,  for  she  had  persisted  in  making 
her  way  right  across  the  island  to  look  out  for  a  site  for  another 
palace.  Norman  was  a  little  inclined  to  be  sulky,  for  Katie 
had  got  the  better  of  him  ;  when  she  had  got  out  of  the  boat, 
he  could  not  get  her  into  it  again ;  and  as  he  could  not  very 
well  leave  her  in  the  island,  he  had  been  obliged  to  remain 
paddling  about,  while  he  heard  the  happy  voices  of  Alaric  and 
the  two  girls  from  the  lawn.  Alaric  was  in  high  good-humor, 
and  entered  the  room  intent  on  his  threatened  purpose  of  seduc- 
ing Captain  Cuttwater's  affections.  The  two  girls  were  both 
blooming  with  happy  glee,  and  Gertrude  was  especially  bright 
in  spite  of  the  somewhat  sombre  demeanor  of  her  lover. 
/"Tea  was  brought  in,  whereupon  Captain  Cuttwater,  having 
taken  a  bit  of  toast  and  crammed  it  into  his  saucer,  fell  fast 
•-^filaep  in  an  arm-chair. 

"You'll  have  very  little  opportunity  to-night,"  said  Linda, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Opportunity  for  what  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  Hush,"  said  Gertrude,  "  we'll  tell  you  by  and  by,  mamma. 
You'll  wake  Uncle  Bat  if  you  talk  now." 

"  I  am  so  thirsty,"  said  Katie,  bouncing  into  the  room  with 
dry  shoes  and  stockings  on.  "  I  am  so  thirsty.  Oh,  Linda,  do 
give  me  some  tea." 

"  Hush,"  said  Alaric,  pointing  to  the  captain,  who  was 
thoroughly  enjoying  himself,  and  uttering  sonorous  snores  at 
regular  fixed  intervals. 

"  Sit  down,  Katie,  and  don't  make  a  noise,"  said  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward, gently. 

Katie  slunk  into  a  chair,  opened  wide  her  large  bright  eyes, 
applied  herself  diligently  to  her  teacup,  and  then,  after  taking 
breath,  said,  in  a  very  audible  whisper  to  her  sister,  "  Are  not 
we  to  talk  at  all,  Linda  ?     That  will  be  very  dull,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  you  are  to  talk  as  much  as  you  please,  and 
as  often  as  you  please,  and  as  loud  as  you  please ;  that  is  to 
say,  if  your  mamma  will  let  you,"  said  Captain  Cuttwater, 


CAPTAIN   CUTTWATER.  45 

without  any  apparent  waking  effort,   and  in  a   moment  the 
snoring  was  going  on  again  as  regularly  as  before. 

Katie  looked  round,  and  again  opened  her  eyes  and  laughed. 
Mrs.  Woodward  said,  "You  are  very  good-natured,  uncle." 
The  girls  exchanged  looks  with  Alaric,  and  Normau,  who 
had  not  yet  recovered  his  good-humor,  went  on  sipping  his 
tea. 

As  soon  as  the  tea-things  were  gone.  Uncle  Bat  yawned 
and  shook  himself,  and  asked  if  it  was  not  nearly  time  to  go 
to  bed. 

"  AVhenever  you  like.  Uncle  Bat,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  who 
began  to  find  that  she  agreed  with  Gertrude,  that  early  habits 
on  the  part  of  her  uncle  would  be  a  family  blessing.  "  But 
perhaps  you'll  take  something  before  you  go  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do  take  a  thimbleful  of  rum-and- 
water."  So  the  odious  spirit-bottle  was  again  brought  into  the 
drawing-room. 

"  Did  you  call  at  the  Admiralty,  sir,  as  you  came  through 
town  ?"  said  Alaric. 

"  Call  at  the  Admiralty,  sir  !"  said  the  captain,  turning  sharply 
round  at  the  questioner ;  "  what  the  deuce  should  I  call  at 
the  Admiralty  for  ?  craving  the  ladies'  pardon." 

"  Well,  indeed,  I  don't  know,"  said  Alaric,  not  a  bit  abashed. 
"But  sailors  always  do  call  there,  for  the  pleasure,  I  suppose, 
of  kicking  their  heels  in  the  Lords'  waiting-room." 

"  I  have  done  with  that  game,"  said  Captain  Cuttwater,  now 
wide  awake;  and  in  his  energy  he  poured  half  a  glass  more 
rum  into  his  beaker.  "  I've  done  with  that  game,  and  I'll 
tell  you  what,  Mr.  Tudor,  if  I  had  a  dozen  sons  to  provide  for 
to-morrow -" 

"  Oh,  I  do  wish  you  had,"  said  Katie ;  "  it  would  be  such  fun. 
Fancy  Uncle  Bat  having  twelve  sons,  Gertrude.  What  would 
you  call  them  all,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  tell  you  what.  Miss  Katie,  I  wouldn't  call  one  of 
them  a  sailor.     I  'd  sooner  make  tailors  of  them." 

"  Tinker,  tailor,  soldier,  sailor,  gentleman,  apothecary,  plough- 
boy,  thief,"  said  Katie.  "  That  would  only  be  eight ;  what  should 
the  other  four  be,  uncle  ? " 

"  You  're  quite  right.  Captain  Cuttwater,"  said  Alaric,  "  at 
least  as  far  as  the  present  moment  goes  ;  but  the  time  is  coming 
when  things  at  the  Admiralty-wilLJbe-^ftanaged  very  differently." 

"  Then  I  'm  d if  that  time  can  come  too  soon — craving 

the  ladies'  pardon  ! "  said  Uncle  Bat. 


40  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

"  I  don't  know  wliat  yon  mean,  Alaric,"  said  Harry  Norman, 
who  was  just  at  present  somewhat  disposed  to  contradict  liis 
friend,  and  not  ill-inclined  to  contradict  the  captain  also ;  "  as 
far  as  I  can  judge,  the  Admiralty  is  the  very  last  office  the 
Government  will  think  of  touching." 

"  The  Government !  "  shouted  Captain  Cuttwater ;  "oh  !  if  we 
are  to  wait  for  the  Government,  the  navy  may  go  to  the  deuce, 
sir." 

"  It 's  the  pressure  from  without  that  must  do  the  work,"  said 
Alaric. 

"  Pressure  from  without !  "  said  Norman,  scornfully ;  "  I  hate 
to  hear  such  trash." 

"  We  '11  see,  young  gentleman,  we  '11  see,"  said  the  captain ; 
"  it  may  be  trash,  and  it  may  be  right  that  five  fellows  w^ho 
never  did  the  Queen  a  day's  service  in  their  life,  should  get  fifteen 
hundred  or  two  thousand  a  year,  and  have  the  power  of  robbing 
an  old  sailor  like  me  of  the  reward  due  to  me  for  sixty  years' 
hard    w^ork.     Reward !    no ;    but  the  very  wages  that  I  have 

actually  earned.    Look  at  me  now,  d me,  look  at  me  !    Here 

I  am.  Captain  Cuttwater — with  sixty  years'  service — and  I  've 
done  more  perhaps  for  the  Queen's  navy  than — than " 

"  It's  too  true,  Captain  Cuttwater,"  said  Alaric,  speaking  with 
a  sort  of  mock  earnestness  which  completely  took  in  the  captain, 
but  stealing  a  glance  at  the  same  time  at  the  two  girls,  who  sat 
over  their  work  at  the  drawing-room  table,  "  it 's  too  true  ;  and 
there's  no  doubt  the  whole  thing  must  be  altered,  and  that 
soon.  In  the  first  place,  we  must  have  a  sailor  at  the  head  of 
the  navy." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  captain,  "  and  one  that  knows  something 
about  it  too." 

"  You'll  never  have  a  sailor  sitting  as  first  lord,"  said  Norman, 
authoritatively ;  "  unless  it  be  when  some  party  man,  high  in 
rank,  may  happen  to  have  been  in  the  navy  as  a  boy." 

"  And  why  not  ? "  said  Captain  Cuttwater,  quite  angrily. 

"Because  the  first  lord  must  sit  in  the  Cabinet,  and  to  do 
that  he  must  be  a  thorough  poiiticTan?' ~~ 

"Pj :  politicians  !  craving  the  ladies'  pardon,"  said  Uncle 

Bat. 

"Amen !  "  said  Alaric. 

Uncle  Bat,  thinking  that  he  had  thoroughly  carried  his  point, 
finished  his  grog,  took  up  his  candlestick,  and  toddled  off"  to  bed. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  have  done  something  towards  carrying  my 
point,"  said  Alaric. 


BUSHEY  PARK.  47 

"I  didn't  tliink  you  were  half  so  cunning,"  said  Linda, 
laughing. 

"  I  cannot  think  how  you  can  condescend  to  advocate  opinions 
diametrically  opposed  to  your  own  convictions,"  said  Norman, 
somewhat  haughtily. 

"  Fee,  fo,  fum !  "  said  Alaric. 

"  What  is  it  all  about  ? "  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  Alaric  wants  to  do  all  he  can  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
Uncle  Bat,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  and  I  am  sure  he 's  going  the 
right  way  to  work." 

"It's  very  good-natured  on  his  part,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  I  don 't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  said  Katie, 
yawning,  "  and  I  think  you  are  all  very  stupid  ;  so  I  '11  go  to  bed." 

The  rest  soon  followed  her.  They  did  not  sit  up  so  late 
chatting  over  the  fire  this  evening,  as  was  their  wont  on  Satur- 
days, though  none  of  them  knew  what  cause  prevented  it. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

BUSHEY  PARK. 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  the  whole  party  very  properly 
went  to  church  ;  but  during  the  sermon  Captain  Cuttwater  very 
improperly  went  to  sleep,  and  snored  ponderously  the  whole 
time.  Katie  was  so  thoroughly  shocked  that  she  did  not  know 
which  way  to  look  ;  Norman,  who  had  recovered  his  good- 
humor,  and  Alaric,  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  as  they 
caught  the  eyes  of  the  two  girls ;  and  Mrs.  Woodward  made 
sundry  little  abortive  efforts  to  wake  her  uncle  with  her  foot. 
Altogether  abortive  they  were  not,  for  the  captain  would  open 
his  eyes  and  gaze  at  her  for  a  moment  in  the  most  good- 
natured,  lack-lustre  manner  conceivable ;  but  then,  in  a 
moment,  he  would  be  again  asleep  and  snoring,  with  all  the 
regalarity  of  a  kitchen-clock.  This  was  at  first  very  dreadful  to 
the  Woodwards  ;  but  after  a  month  or  two  they  got  used  to  it, 
and  so  apparently  did  the  pastor  and  the  people  of  Hampton. 

After  church  there  was  a  lunch  of  course;  and  then,  accord- 
ing to  their  wont,  they  went  out  to  walk.  These  Sunday 
walks  in  general  were  matters  of  some  difficulty.  The  beauti- 
ful neighborhood  of  Hampton  Court,  with  its  palace -gardens 
and  lovely  park,  is  so  popular  with  Londoners  that  it  is  generally 
alive  on  that  day  with  a  thronged  multitude  of  men,  women, 
and  children,  and  thus  becomes  not  an  eligible  resort  for  lovers 


48  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

of  privacy.  Captain  Cuttwater,  however,  on  this  occasion,  in- 
sisted on  seeing  the  chestnuts  and  the  crowd,  and  consequently, 
they  all  went  into  Bushey  Park. 

IJncle  Bat,  who  professed  himself  to  be  a  philanthropist,  and 
who  was  also  a  bit  of  a  democrat,  declared  himself  delighted 
W' ith  what  he  saw.  It  was  a  great  thing  for  the  London  citizens 
to  come  down  there  with  their  wives  and  children,  and  eat 
their  dinners  in  the  open  air  under  the  spreading  trees ;  and 
both  Harry  and  Alaric  agreed  with  him.  Mrs.  Woodward,  how- 
ever, averred  that  it  would  be  much  better  if  they  would  go  to 
church  first,  and  Gertrude  and  Linda  were  of  opinion  that  the 
Park  was  spoilt  by  the  dirty  bits  of  greasy  paper  which  were 
left  about  on  all  sides.  Katie  thought  it  very  hard  that,  as  all 
the  Londoners  were  allowed  to  eat  their  dinners  in  the  Park, 
she  might  not  have  hers  there  also.  To  which  Captain  Cutt- 
w^ater  rejoined  that  he  shohld  give  them  a  p)icnic  at  Richmond 
before  the  summer  was  over. 

All  the  world  knows  how  such  a  party  as  that  of  our  friends 
by  degrees  separates  itself  into  twos  and  threes,  when  sauntering 
about  in  shady  walks.  It  was  seldom,  indeed,  that  Norman 
could  induce  his  Dulcinea  to  be  so  complaisant  in  his  favor ; 
but  either  accident  or  kindness  on  her  part  favored  him  on  this 
occasion,  and  as  Katie  went  on  eliciting  from  Uncle  Bat  fresh 
promises  as  to  the  picnic,  Harry  and  Gertrude  found  themselves 
together  under  one  avenue  of  trees,  while  Alaric  and  Linda 
were  equally  fortunate,  or  unfortunate,  under  another. 

"  I  did  so  wish  to  speak  a  few  words  to  you,  Gertrude,"  said 
Norman ;  "  but  it  seems  as  though,  now  that  this  captain  has 
come  among  us,  all  our  old  habits  and  ways  are  to  be  upset." 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  need  say  that,"  said  she.  "  We  may, 
perhaps,  be  put  out  a  little — that  is,  mamma  and  Linda  and  I ; 
but  I  do  not  see  that  you  need  suffer." 

"  Suffer — no,  not  suffer — and  yet  it  is  suffering." 

"  What  is  suffering  ?"  said  she. 

"  Why,  to  be  as  we  were  last  night — not  able  to  speak  to 
each  other." 

"  Come,  Harry,  you  should  be  a  little  reasonable,"  said  she, 
laughing.     "  If  you  did  not  talk  last  night  whose  fault  w^as  it  ?" 

'*  I  suppose  you  will  say  it  was  my  own.  Perhaps  it  was. 
But  I  could  not  feel  comfortable  while  he  was  drinking  gin-and- 
water "  ~  - 

"  It  was  rum,"  said  Gertrude,  rather  gravely. 

*'  Well,  rum-and-water  in  your  mother's  drawing-room,  and 


BUSHEY  PARK.  49 

cursing  and  swearing  before  you  and  Linda,  as  though  he  were 
in  the  cockpit  of  a  man-of-war." 

"  Ahiric  you  saw  w^as  able  to  make  himself  happy,  and  I  am 
sure  he  is  not  more  indifferent  to  us  than  you  are." 

"  Alaric  seemed  to  me  to  be  bent  on  making  a  fool  of  the 
old  man  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  cannot  approve  of  his  doing 
so." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Harry,  that  you  do  not  approve  of  what 
any  of  us  are  doing,"  said  she ;  "  I  fear  we  are  all  in  your 
black  books — Captain  Cuttwater,  and  mamma,  and  Alaric,  and 
T,  and  all  of  us." 

"  Well  now,  Gertrude,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  it  right 
that  Katie  should  sit  by  and  hear  a  man  talk  as  Captain  Cutt- 
w^ater  talked  last  night  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  scene 
which  passed,  with  the  rum  and  the  curses,  and  the  absurd 
ridicule  which  was  thrown  on  your  mother's  uncle,  was  such  as 
should  take  place  in  your  mother's  drawing-room  ?" 

"  I  mean  to  say,  Harry,  that  my  mother  is  the  best  and 
only  judge  of  what  should,  and  what  should  not,  take  place 
there." 

Norman  felt  himself  somewhat  silenced  by  this,  and  walked 
on  for  a  time  without  speaking.  He  was  a  little  too  apt  to 
take  upon  himself  the  character  of  Mentor ;  -and,  strange  to 
say,  he  was  aware  of  his  own  fault  in  this  particular.  Thus, 
though  the  temptation  to  preach  was  very  powerful,  he 
refrained  himself  for  a  while.  His  present  desire  was  to 
say  soft  things  rather  than  sharp  words  ;  and  though  lecturing 
was  at  this  moment  much  easier  to  him  than  love-making,  he 
bethought  himself  of  his  object,  and  controlled  the  spirit  of 
morality  which  was  strong  within  him. 

"  But  we  were  so  happy  before  your  uncle  came,"  he  said, 
speaking  with  his  sweetest  voice,  and  looking  at  the  beautiful 
girl  beside  him  with  all  the  love  he  was  able  to  throw  into  his 
handsome  face. 

"  And  we  are  happy  now  that  he  has  come — or  at  any  rate 
ought  to  be,"  said  Gertrude,  doing  a  little  in  the  Mentor  line 
herself,  now  that  the  occasion  came  in  her  way. 

"  Ah  !  Gertrude,  you  know  very  well  there  is  only  one  thing 
can  make  me  happy,"  said  Harry. 

"  Why,  you  unreasonable  man  !  just  now  you  said  you  were 
perfectly  happy  before  Captain  Cuttwater  came.  I  suppose  the 
one  thing  now  necessary  is  to  send  him  away  again." 

"  No,  Gertrude,  the  thing  necessary  is  to  take  you  away." 

3 


60  THE  THEEE  CLEEKS. 

"  What !  out  of  the  contamination  of  poor  old  Uncle  Bat's 
bottle  of  rum  ?  But,  Harry,  you  see  it  would  be  cowardly 
in  me  to  leave  mamma  and  Linda  to  suffer  the  calamity 
alone." 

"  I  wonder,  Gertrude,  whether,  in  your  heart  of  hearts,  you 
really  care  a  straw  about  me,"  said  Harry,  who  was  now  very 
sentimental  and  somewhat  lachrymose. 

"  You  know  we  all  care  very  much  about  you,  and  it  is  very 
wrong  in  you  to  express  such  a  doubt,"  said  Gertrude,  with  a 
duplicity  that  was  almost  wicked ;  as  if  she  did  not  fully 
understand  that  the  kind  of  "  caring "  of  which  Norman 
spoke  was  of  a  very  different  nature  from  the  general  "caring" 
which  she,  on  his  behalf,  shared  with  the  rest  of  her  family. 

"  All  of  you — yes ;  but  I  am  not  speaking  of  all  of  you ;  I 
am  speaking  of  you,  Gertrude — you  in  particular.  Can  you 
ever  love  me  well  enough  to  be  my  wife  ?" 

"  Well,  there  is  no  knowing  what  I  may  be  able  to  do  in 
three  or  four  years'  time  ;  but  even  that  must  depend  very 
much  on  how  you  behave  yourself  in  the  mean  time.  If  you 
get  cross  because  Captain  Cuttwater  has  come  here,  and  snub 
Alaric§ind  Linda,  as  you  did  last  night,  and  scold  at  mamma 
because  she  chooses  to  let  her  own  uncle  live  in  her  own  house, 
why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  think  I  ever  shall." 

All  persons  who  have  a  propensity  to  lecture  others  have  a 
strong  constitutional  dislike  to  being  lectured  themselves. 
Such  was  decidedly  the  case  with  Harry  Norman.  In  spite  of 
his  strong  love,  and  his  anxious  desire  to  make  himself  agree- 
able, his  brow  became  somewhat  darkened,  and  his  lips  some- 
what compressed.  He  would  not  probably  have  been  annoyed 
had  he  not  been  found  fault  with  for  snubbing  his  friend  Tudor. 
Why  should  Gertrude,  his  Gertrude,  put  herself  forward  to 
defend^  his  friend  ?  Let  her  say  what  she  chose  for  her  mother, 
or  even  for  her  profane,  dram-drinking,  vulgar  old  uncle,  but  it 
was  too  much  that  she  should  take  up  the  cudgels  for  Alaric 
Tudor. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  was  annoyed  last  night,  and  I  must  own 
it.  It  grieved  me  to  hear  Alaric  turning  your  uncle  into  ridi- 
cule, and  that  before  your  mother's  face ;  and  it  grieved  me  to 
see  you  and  Linda  encourage  him.  In  what  Alaric  said  about 
the  Admiralty  he  did  not  speak  truthfully." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Alaric  said  what  was  false  ?" 

"  Inasmuch  as  he  was  pretending  to  express  his  own  opinion, 
he  did  say  what  was  false." 


BUSHEY  PAEK.  51 

"  Then  I  must  and  will  say  that  I  never  yet  knew  Alaric  say 
a  word  that  was  not  true ;  and,  which  is  more,  I  am  quite  sure 
that  he  would  not  accuse  you  of  falsehood  behind  your  back  in 
a  fit  of  jealousy." 

"  Jealousy !"  said  Norman,  looking  now  as  black  as  grim  death 
itself. 

"  Yes,  it  is  jealousy.  It  so  turned  out  that  Alaric  got  on 
better  last  night  with  Captain  Cuttwater  than  you  did,  and  that 
makes  you  jealous." 

"  Pish !"  said  Norman,  somewhat  relieved,  but  still  sufficiently 
disgusted  that  his  lady-love  should  suppose  that  he  could  be 
otherwise  than  supremely  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  Captain 
Cuttwater. 

The  love-scene,  however,  was  fatally  interrupted ;  and  the 
pair  were  not  long  before  they  joined  the  Captain,  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward, and  Katie*. 

And  how  fared  it  with  the  other  pair  under  the  other  avenue 
of  chestnuts  ? 

Alaric  Tudor  had  certainly  come  out  with  no  defined  inten- 
tion of  making  love,  as  Harry  Norman  had  done  ;  but  with  such 
a  companion  it  was  very  difficult  for  him  to  avoid  it.  Linda 
was  much  more  open  to  attacks  of  this  nature  than  her  sister. 
Not  that  she  was,  as  a  general  rule,  willingly  and  wilfully  in- 
clined to  give  more  encouragement  to  lovers  than  Gertrude ; 
but  she  had  less  power  of  fence,  less  skill  in  protecting  herself, 
and  much  less  of  that  haughty  self-esteem  which  makes  some 
women  fancy  that  all  love-making  to  them  is  a  liberty,  and  the 
want  of  which  makes  others  feel  that  all  love-making  is  to  them 
a  compliment. 

Alaric  Tudor  had  no  defined  intention  of  making  love ;  but 
he  had  a  sort  of  suspicion  that  he  might,  if  he  pleased,  do  so 
successfully  ;  and  he  had  no  defined  intention  of  letting  it  alone. 
He  was  a  far-seeing,  prudent  man ;  for  his  age  perhaps  too 
prudent ;  but  he  was  nevertheless  fully  susceptible  of  the  pleasure 
of  holding  an  affectionate,  close  intercourse  with  so  sweet  a  girl 
as  Linda  Woodward ;  and  though  he  knew  that  marriage  with 
a  girl  without  a  dowry  would  for  him  be  a  death-blow  to  all  his 
high  hopes,  he  could  hardly  resist  the  temptation  of  conjugating 
the  verb  to  love.  Had  he  been  able  to  choose  from  the  two  sisters, 
he  would  probably  have  selected  Gertrude  in  spite  of  what  he- 
had  said  to  Norman  in  the  boat ;  but  Gertrude  was  bespoken  ; 
and  it  therefore  seemed  all  but  unnatural  that  there  should  not 
be  some  love  passages  between  him  and  Linda. 


52  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

f  Ah  !  Mrs.  Woodward,  my  friend,  my  friend,  was  it  well  that 
/  thou  shouldst  leave  that  sweet  unguarded  rosebud  of  thine  to 
v such  perils  as  these  ? 

They,  also,  commenced  their  wooing  by  talking  over  Captain 
'  Cuttwater ;  but  they  did  not  quarrel  about  him.  Linda  was 
quite  content  to  be  told  by  her  friend  what  she  ought  to  do,  and 
how  she  ought  to  think  about  her  uncle ;  and  Alaric  had  a 
better  way  of  laying  down  the  law  than  Norman.  He  could  do 
so  without  offending  his  hearer's  pride,  and  consequently  was 
generally  better  listened  to  than  his  friend,  though  his  law  was 
probably  not  in  effect  so  sound. 

But  they  had  soon  done  with  Captain  Cuttwater,  and  Alaric 
had  to  choose  another  subject.  Gertrude  and  Norman  were  at 
some  distance  from  them,  but  were  in  sight  and  somewhat  in 
advance. 

"  Look  at  Harry,"  said  Alaric  ;  "  I  know  fro'm  the  motion  of 
his  shoulder  that  he  is  at  this  moment  saying  something  very 
tender." 

"  It  is  ten  times  more  likely  that  they  are  quarrelling,"  said 
Linda. 

"  Oh  !  the  quarrels  of  lovers — we  know  all  about  that,  don't 
we  ?" 

"  You  must  not  call  them  lovers,  Alaric ;  mamma  would  not 
like  it,  nor  indeed  would  Gertrude,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  would  not  for  the  world  do  anything  that  Mrs.  Woodward 
would  not  like ;  but  between  ourselves,  Linda,  are  they  not 
lovers  ?" 

"  No ;  that  is,  not  that  I  know  of.  I  don't  believe  that  they 
are  a  bit,"  said  Linda,  blushing  at  her  own  fib. 

"  And  why  should  they  not  be  ?  How  indeed  is  it  possible 
that  they  should  not  be  ;  that  is — for  I  heartily  beg  Gertrude's 
pardon — how  is  it  possible  that  Harry  should  not  be  in  love 
with  her?" 

"  Indeed,  Gertrude  is  very,  very  beautiful,"  said  Linda,  with 
the  faintest  possible  sigh,  occasioned  by  the  remembrance  of  her 
own  inferior  charms. 

"  Indeed  she  is,  very,  very  beautiful,"  repeated  Alaric,  speak- 
ing with  an  absent  air,  as  though  his  mind  were  fully  engaged 
in  thinking  of  the  beauty  of  which  he  spoke. 

It  was  not  in  Linda's  nature  to  be  angry  because  her  sister 
was  admired,  and  because  she  was  not.  But  yet  there  was 
something  in  Alaric's  warm  tone  of  admiration  which  gave  her 
a  feeling  of  unhappiness  which  she  would  have  been  quite  un- 


BUSHEY  PAKK.  5Z 

able  to  define,  even  bad  sbe  attempted  it.  Sbe  saw  ber  sister 
and  Harry  Norman  before  ber,  and  sbe  knew  in  ber  beart  tbat 
tbey  were  lovers,  in  spite  of  ber  little  weak  declaration  to  tbe  con- 
trary. Sbe  saw  bow  earnestly  ber  sister  was  loved,  and  sbe  in  ber 
kindly  loving  nature  could  not  but  envy  ber  fancied  bappiness. 
Envy — no — it  certainly  was  not  envy.  Sbe  would  not  for  worlds 
bave  robbed  ber  sister  of  ber  admirer;  but  it  was  so  natural  for 
ber  to  feel  tbat  it  must  be  delicious  to  be  admired ! 

Sbe  did  not  begrudge  Gertrude  Norman's  superior  beauty, 
nor  bis  greater  wealtb  ;  sbe  knew  tbat  Gertrude  was  entitled  to 
more,  mucb  more  tban  berself. — But  seeing  tbat  Norman  was 
Gertrude's  lover,  was  it  not  natural  tbat  Alaric  sliould  be  bers  ? 
And  tben,  tbougb  Harry  was  tbe  bandsomer  and  tbe  ricber,  sbe 
liked  Alaric  so  mucb  tbe  better  of  tbe  two.  But  now  tbat 
Alaric  was  alone  witb  ber,  tbe  only  subject  be  could  tbink  to 
talk  of  was  Gertrude's  beauty  ! 

It  must  not  be  supposed  tbat  tbese  tbougbts  in  tbeir  plainly- 
developed  form  passed  tbrougb  Linda's  mind.  It  was  not 
tbat  sbe  tbougbt  all  tbis,  but  tbat  sbe  felt  it.  Sucb  feelings  are 
quite  involuntary,  wbereas  one's  tbougbts  are  more  or  less  under 
command.  Linda  would  not  bave  allowed  berself  to  tbink  in 
tbis  way  for  worlds  ;  but  sbe  could  not  control  ber  feelings. 

Tbey  walked  on  side  by  side,  perfectly  silent  for  a  minute  or 
two,  and  an  ill-natured  tear  was  gatbering  itself  in  tbe  corner  of 
Linda's  eye  :  sbe  was  afraid  even  to  raise  ber  band  to  brusb  it 
away,  for  fear  Alaric  sbould  see  ber,  and  tbus  it  went  on  gatber- 
ing till  it  was  like  to  fall. 

"  How  singular  it  is,"  said  Alaric — "  bow  very  singular,  tbe 
way  in  wbicb  I  find  myself  living  witb  you  all !  sucb  a  perfect 
stranger  as  I  am." 

"  A  perfect  stranger  !'*  said  Linda,  wbo,  baving  remembered 
Alaric  since  tbe  days  of  ber  sbort  frocks  and  lessons,  looked  on 
bim  as  a  very  old  friend  indeed. 

"  Yes,  a  perfect  stranger,  if  you  tbink  of  it.  Wbat  do  any 
of  you  know  about  me  ?  Your  motber  never  saw  my  motber ; 
your  fatber  knew  notbing  of  my  fatber ;  there  is  no  kindred 
blood  common  to  us.  Harry  Norman,  tbere,  is  your  near  cousin  ; 
but  wbat  am  I  tbat  I  sbould  be  tbus  allowed  to  live  witb 
you,  and  walk  witb  you,  and  bave  a  common  interest  in  all  your 
doings  ?" 

"  Wby,  you  are  a  dear  friend  of  mamma's,  are  you  not  ?" 

"  A  dear  friend  of  mamma's  !"  said  be  ;  "  well,  indeed,  I  bopc 
I  am  ;  for  your  motber  is  at  any  rate  a  dear  friend  to  me.     But, 


54  THE  THEEE  CLERKS. 

Linda,  one  cannot  be  so  much  without  longing  to  be  more. 
Look  at  Harry,  how  happy  he  is !" 

"  But,  Alaric,  surely  you  would  not  interfere  w^ith  Harry," 
said  Linda,  whose  humble,  innocent  heart  thought  still  of 
nothing  but  the  merits  of  her  sister :  and  then,  remembering 
that  it  was  necessary  that  she  should  admit  nothing  on  Ger- 
trude's behalf,  she  entered  her  little  protest  against  the  assump- 
tion that  her  sister  acknowledged  Norman  for  her  lover.  "  That 
is,  you  would  not  do  so,  if  there  were  anything  in  it." 

"  I  interfere  with  Harry  !"  said  Alaric,  switching  the  heads  off 
the  bits  of  fern  with  the  cane  he  carried.  "  No,  indeed.  I  have 
no  wish  at  all  to  do  that.  It  is  not  that  of  which  I  was  thinking. 
Harry  is  welcome  to  all  his  happiness ;  that  is,  if  Gertrude  can 
be  brought  to  make  him  happy." 

Linda  made  no  answer  now  ;  but  the  tear  came  running  down 
her  face,  and  her  eyes  became  dim,  and  her  heart  beat  very 
quick,  and  she  didn't  quite  remember  where  she  was.  Up  to 
this  moment  no  man  had  spoken  a  word  of  love  to  Linda  Wood- 
ward, and  to  some  girls  the  first  word  is  very  trying. 

"  Interfere  Avith  Harry  !"  Alaric  repeated  again,  and  renewed 
his  attack  on  the  ferns.  "  Well,  Linda,  what  an  opinion  yon 
must  have  of  me  !" 

Linda  was  past  answering ;  she  could  not  protest — nor  would 
it  have  been  expedient  to  do  so — that  her  opinion  of  her  com- 
panion was  not  unfavorable. 

"  Gertrude  is  beautiful,  very  beautiful,"  he  continued,  still  beat- 
ing about  the  bush  as  modest  lovers  do,  and  should  do ;  "  but 
she  is  not  the  only  beautiful  girl  in  Surbiton  Cottage,  nor  to  my 
eyes  is  she  the  most  so." 

Linda  was  now  quite  beside  herself.  She  knew  that  decorum 
required  that  she  should  say  something  stiff  and  stately  to 
repress  such  language,  but  if  all  her  future  character  for  propri- 
ety had  depended  on  it,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  say  a 
word.  She  knew  that  Gertrude,  when  so  addressed,  would  have 
maintained  her  dignity,  and  have  concealed  her  secret,  even  if 
she  allowed  herself  to  have  a  secret  to  conceal.  She  knew  that 
it  behoved  her  to  be  repellent  and  antagonistic  to  the  first  vows 
of  a  first  lover.  But,  alas  !  she  had  no  power  of  antagonism, 
no  energy  for  repulse  left  in  her.  Her  knees  seemed  to  be  weak 
beneath  her,  and  all  she  could  do  was  to  pluck  to  pieces  the 
few  flow^ers  that  she  carried  at  her  waist. 

Alaric  saw  his  advantage,  but  was  too  generous  to  push  it 
closely ;  nor  indeed  did  he  choose  to  commit  himself  to  all  the 


BUSHEY   PAEK.  55 

assured  intentions  of  a  positive  declaration.  He  wislied  to  raise 
an  interest  in  Linda's  heart,  and  Laving  done  so,  to  leave  the 
matter  to  chance.  Something,  however,  it  was  necessary  that 
he  should  say.  He  walked  a  while  by  her  in  silence,  decapitating 
the  ferns,  and  then  coming  close  to  her,  he  said — 

"  Linda,  dear  Linda  ?  you  are  not  angry  with  me  ?  "  Linda, 
however,  answered  nothing.  "  Linda,  dearest  Linda !  speak  one 
w^ord  to  me." 

"  Don't !  "  said  Linda  through  her  tears.  "  Pray  don't,  Alaric ; 
pray  don't." 

"  Well,  Linda,  I  will  not  say  another  word  to  you  now.  Let 
us  walk  gently ;  we  shall  catch  them  up  quite  in  time  before 
they  leave  the  park." 

And  so  they  sauntered  on  exchanging  no  further  words. 
Linda  by  degrees  recovered  her  calmness,  and  as  she  did  so,  she 
found  herself  to  be,  oh  !  so  happy.  She  had  never,  never  envied 
Gertrude  her  lover ;  but  it  was  so  sweet,  so  very  sweet  to  be 
able  to  share  her  sister's  happiness.  And  Alaric,  was  he  also 
happy  ?  At  the  moment  he  doubtless  enjoyed  the  triumph  of 
his  success.  But  still  he  had  a  feeling  of  sad  care  at  his  heart. 
How  was  he  to  marry  a  girl  without  a  shilling  ?  Were  all  his 
high  hopes,  was  all  his  soaring  ambition^  to  ^be  throwp-0¥er-for 
a  dream  of  love?  — — 

-Ah'TlIrs.  Woodward,  my  friend,  my  friend,  thou  who  wouldst 
have  fed  thy  young  ones,  like  the  pelican,  with  blood  from  thine 
own  breast,  had  such  feeding  been  of  avail ;  thou  who  art  the 
kindest  of  mothers  ;  has  it  been  well  for  thee  to  subject  to  such 
perils  this  poor  weak  young  dove  of  thine  ? 

Uncle  Bat  had  become  tired  with  his  walk,  and  crawled 
home  so  slowly  that  Alaric  and  Linda  caught  the  party  just  as 
they  reached  the  small  wicket  which  leads  out  of  the  park  on 
the  side  nearest  to  Hampton.  Nothing  was  said  or  thought  of 
their  absence,  and  they  all  entered  the  house  together.  Four 
of  them,  however,  were  conscious  that  that  Sunday's  walk 
beneath  the  chestnuts  of  Busily  Park  would  long  be  remem- 
bered. 

Nothing  else  occurred  to  make  the  day  memorable.  In  the 
evening,  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Woodward  and  her  daughters  went 
to  church,  leaving  her  younger  guests  to  entertain  the  elder 
one.  The  elder  one  soon  took  the  matter  in  his  own  hand  by 
going  to  sleep ;  and  Harry  and  Alaric  being  thus  at  liberty, 
sauntered  out  down  the  river  side.  They  both  made  a  forced 
attempt  at  good -humor,  each  speaking  cheerily  to  the  other; 


56  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

but  tliere  was  no  confidence  between  tbem  as  there  had  been 
on  that  morning  when  Harry  rowed  his  friend  up  to  London. 
Ah  me !  what  had  occurred  between  them  to  break  the  bonds 
of  their  mutual  trust — to  quench  the  ardor  of  their  firm  friend- 
ship ?  But  so  it  was  between  them  now.  It  was  fated  that 
they  never  again  should  place  full  confidence  in  each  other. 

There  was  no  such  breach  between  the  sisters,  at  least  not  as 
yet ;  but  even  between  them  there  was  no  free  and  full  inter- 
change of  their  hopes  and  fears.  Gertrude  and  Linda  shared 
the  same  room,  and  were  accustomed — as  what  girls  are  not  ? 
to  talk  half  through  the  night  of  all  their  wishes,  thoughts,  and 
feelings.  And  Gertrude  was  generally  prone  enough  to  talk  of 
Harry  Norman.  Sometimes  she  would  say  she  loved  him  a 
little,  just  a  little,  at  others  she  would  declare  that  she  loved 
him  not  at  all — that  is,  not  as  heroines  love  in  novels,  not  as  she 
thought  she  could  love,  and  would  do,  should  it  ever  be  her  lot 
to  be  wooed  by  such  a  lover  as  her  young  fancy  pictured  to  her. 
Then  she  would  describe  her  beau  ideal,  and  the  description 
certainly  gave  no  counterpart  of  Harry  Norman.  To  tell  the 
truth,  however,  Gertrude  was  as  yet  heart  whole ;  and  when 
she  talked  of  love  and  Harry  Norman,  she  did  not  know  what 
love  was. 

On  this  special  Sunday  evening  she  was  disinclined  to. speak 
of  him  at  all.  Not  that  she  loved  him  more  than  usual,  but 
that  she  was  beginning  to  think  that  she  could  not  ever  really 
love  him  at  all.  She  had  taught  herself  to  think  that  he 
might  probably  be  her  husband,  and  had  hitherto  feltl  no  such 
repugnance  to  her  destiny  as  caused  her  to  shun  the  subject. 
But  now  she  was  beginning  to  think  of  the  matter  seriously; 
and  as  she  did  so,  she  felt  that  life  might  have  for  her  a  lot 
more  blessed  than  that  of  sharing  the  world  with  her  CQUsin 
Harry. 

When,  therefore,  Linda  began  to  question  her  about  her 
lover,  and  to  make  little  hints  of  her  desire  to  tell  what  Alaric 
had  said  of  her  and  Norman,  Gertrude  gave  her  no  encourage- 
ment. She  would  speak  of  Captain  Cuttwater,  of  Katie's 
lessons,  of  the  new  dress  they  were  to  make  for  their  mother, 
of  Mr.  Everscreech's  long  sermon,  of  anything  in  fact  but  of 
Harry  Norman. 

Now  this  was  very  hard  on  poor  Linda.  Her  heart  was 
bursting  within  her  to  tell  her  sister  that  she  also  was  beloved ; 
but  she  could  not  do  so  without  some  little  encouragement. 

In  all  their  conferences  she  took  the  cue  of  the  conversation 


SIR   GREGORY    HARDLINES.  67 

from  lier  sister ;  and  tlioiigh  slie  could  have  talked  about  Alaric 
by  the  hour,  if  Gertrude  would  have  consented  to  talk  about 
Harry,  she  did  not  know  how  to  start  the  subject  of  her  own 
lover,  while  Gertrude  was  so  cold  and  uncommunicative  as  to 
hers.  She  struggled  very  hard  to  obtain  the  privilege  for  which 
she  so  anxiously  longed ;  but  in  doing  so  she  only  met  with  a 
sad  and  sore  rebuff. 

"  Gertrude,"  at  last  said  Linda,  when  Gertrude  thought  that 
the  subject  had  been  put  to  rest  at  any  rate  for  that  night, 
"  don't  you  think  mamma  would  be  pleased  if  she  knew  that 
you  had  engaged  yourself  to  Harry  Norman  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Gertrude,  evincing  her  strong  mind  by  the  tone 
in  Tfhich  she  spoke  ;  "  I  do  not.  If  mamma  wished  it,  she 
would  have  told  me  ;  for  she  never  has  any  secrets.  I  should 
be  as  wrong  to  engage  myself  with  Harry  as  you  would  be  with 
Alaric.  For  though  Harry  has  property  of  his  own,  while 
poor  Alaric  has  none,  he  has  a  very  insufficient  income  for  a 
married  man,  and  I  have  no  fortune  with  which  to  help  him. 
If  nothing  else  prevented  it,  I  should  consider  it  wicked  in  me 
to  make  myself  a  burden  to  a  man  while  he  is  yet  so  young  and 
comparatively  so  poor." 

Prudent,  sensible,  high-minded,  well-disciplined  Gertrude ! 
But  had  her  heart  really  felt  a  spark  of  love  for  the  man  of 
whom  she  spoke,  how  much  would  prudent,  sensible,  high- 
minded  considerations  have  weighed  with  her  ?  Alas  !  not  a 
feather. 

Having  made  her  prudent,  high-minded  speech,  she  turned 
round  and  slept ;  and  poor  Linda  also  turned  and  bedewed  her 
pillow.  She  no  longer  panted  to  telk  her  sister  of  Alaric's 
love. 

On  the  next  morning  the  two  young  men  returned  to  town, 
and  the  customary  dulness  of  the  week  began. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

SIR    GREGORY    HARDLINES. 


Great' changes  had  been  going  on  at  the  Weights  and 
JNIeasures  ;  or  rather  it  might  be  more  proper  to  say  that  great 
changes^ere  now  in  progress.  From  that  moment  in  which  it 
had  been  hinted  to  Mr.  Hardlines  that  he  must  relax  the  rigor 
of  his  examinations,  he  had  pondered  deeply  over  the  matter. 
Hitherto  he  had  confined  his  efforts  to  his  own  office,  and,  so 


58  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

far  from  feeling  personally  anxious  for  tlie  amelioration  of  the 
Civil  Service  generally,  had  derived  no  inconsiderable  share  of 
his  happiness  from  the  knowledge  that  there  were  such  sinks  of 
iniquity  as  the  Internal  Navigation.  To  be  widely  different 
from  others  was  Mr.  Hardlines'  glory.  He  was,  perhaps,  some- 
thing of  a  Civil  Service  Pharisee,  and  wore  on  his  forehead  a 
broad  phylactery,  stamped  with  the  mark  of  Crown  property. 
He  thanked  God  that  he  was  not  as  those  publicans  at  Somerset 
House,  and  took  glory  to  himself  in  paying  tithes  of  official 
cummin. 

But  now  he  was  driven  to  a  wider  range.  Those  higher 
Pharisees  who  were  above  him  in  his  own  pharisaical  establish- 
ment, had  interfered  with  the  austerity  of  his  worship.  He 
could  not  turn  against  them  there,  on  their  own  ground.  He, 
of  all  men,  could  not  be  disobedient  to  official  orders.  But  if  he 
could  promote  a  movement  beyond  the  walls  of  the  Weights 
and  Measures ;  if  he  could  make  Pharisees  of  those  benighted 
publicans  in  the  Strand ;  if  he  could  introduce  conic  sections 
into  the  Custom  House,  and  political  economy  into  the  Post 
Office  ;  if,  by  any  effort  of  his,  the  Foreign  Office  clerks  could 
be  forced  to  attend  punctually  at  ten  ;  and  that  wretched  sann- 
terer,  whom  five  days  a-week  he  saw  lounging  into  the  Council 
Office — if  he  could  be  made  to  mend  his  pace,  what  a  wide  field 
for  his  ambition  would  Mr.  Hardlines  then  have  found ! 

Great  ideas  opened  themselves  to  his  mind  as  he  walked  to 
and  from  his  office  daily.  What  if  he  could  become  the  parent 
of  a  totally  different  order  of  things  !  What  if  the  Civil  Service, 
through  his  instrumentality,  should  become  the  nucleus  of  the 
best  intellectual  diligence  in  the  country,  instead  of  being  a 
byword  for  sloth  and  ignorance  ?  Mr.  Hardlines  meditated 
deeply  on  this,  and,  as  he  did  so,  it  became  observed  on  all 
sides  that  he  was  an  altered  man  as  regarded  his  solicitude  for 
the  Weights  and  Measures.  One  or  two  lads  crept  in,  by  no 
means  conspicuous  for  their  attainments  in  abstract  science; 
young  men,  too,  were  observed  to  leave  not  much  after  four 
o'clock,  without  calling  down  on  themselves  Mr.  Hardlines' 
usual  sarcasm.  Some  said  he  was  growing  old,  others  that  he 
was  broken-hearted.  But  Mr.  Hardlines  was  not  old,  nor 
broken  in  heart  or  body.  He  was  thinking  of  higher  things 
than  the  Weights  and  Measures,  and  at  last  he  published  a 
pamphlet. 

Mr.  Hardlines  had  many  enemies,  all  in  the  Civil  Service, 
one  of  the  warmest  of  whom  was  Mr.  Oldeschole,  of  the  Navi- 


SIK   GREGORY   IIARDLINES.  59 

gation,  and  at  first  tliey  rejoiced  greatly  tliat  Job's  wisli  had 
been  accomplislicd  on  their  behalf,  and  that  their  enemy  had 
written  a  book.  They  were  down  on  Mr.  Ilardlines  with 
reviews,  counter  pamphlets,  official  statements,  and  indignant 
contradiction ;  but  Mr.  Ilardlines  lived  through  this  storm  of 
missiles,  and  got  his  book  to  be  feted  and  made  much  of  by 
some  government  pundits,  Avho  were  very  bigwigs  indeed.  And 
at  last  he  was  invited  over  to  the  building  on  the  other  side,  to 
discuss  the  matter  with  a  President,  a  Secretary  of  State,  a  Lord 
Commissioner,  two  joint  Secretaries,  and  three  Chairmen. 

And  then,  for  a  period  of  six  months,  the  light  of  Mr.  Hard- 
lines'  face  ceased  to  shine  on  the  children  of  the  Weights  and 
Measures,  and  they  felt,  one  and  all,  that  the  glory  had  in  a 
certain  measure  departed  from  their  house.  Now  and  again 
Mr.  Hardlines  would  look  in,  but  he  did  so  rather  as  an  enemy 
than  as  a  friend.  There  was  always  a  gleam  of  antagonistic 
triumph  in  his  eye,  which  showed  that  he  had  not  forgotten 
the  day  when  he  was  called  in  question  for  his  zeal.  He  was 
felt  to  be  in  opposition  to  his  own  Board,  rather  than  in  co- 
operation with  it.  The  Secretary  and  the  Assistant-Secretaries 
would  say  little  caustic  things  about  him  to  the  senior  clerks, 
and  seemed  somewhat  to  begrudge  him  his  new  honors.  But 
for  all  this  Mr.  Hardlines  cared  little.  The  President  and  the 
Secretary  of 'State,  the  joint  Secretaries  and  the  Chairmen,  all 
allowed  themselves  to  be  led  by  him  in  this  matter.  His  am- 
bition was  about  to  be  gratified.  It  was  his  destiny  that  he 
should  remodel  the  Civil  Service.  What  was  it  to  him  whether 
or  no  one  insignificant  office  would  listen  to  his  charming? 
Let  the  Secretary  at  the  Weights  and  Measures  sneer  as  he 
would  ;  he  would  make  that  hero  of  the  metallic  currency  know 
that  he,  Mr.  Hardlines,  was  his  master. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  his  budding  glory  broke  out  into 
splendid,  full-blown,  many-colored  flowers.  He  resigned  his 
situation  at  the  Weights  and  Measures,  and  was  appointed 
Chief  Commissioner  of  the  Board  of  Civil  Service  Examination, 
with  a  salary  of  2000^.  a-year ;  he  was  made  a  K.C.B.,  and 
shone  forth  to  the  world  as  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines ;  and  he 
received  a  present  of  1,000?.,  that  happy  ne  x>lus  ultra  of  Govern- 
mental liberality.  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  was  forced  to  acknow- 
ledge to  himself  that  he  was  born  to  a  great  destiny. 

When  Sir  Gregory,  as  we  must  now  call  him,  was  first  invited 
to  give  his  attendance  at  another  office,  he  found  it  expedient 
to  take  with  him  one  of  the  young  men  from  the  Weights  and 


60  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

Measures,  and  he  selected  Alaric  Tudor.  Now  this  was  surpris- 
ing to  many,  for  Tudor  had  been  brought  into  the  oflSce  not 
quite  in  accordance  with  Sir  Gregory's  views.  But  during  his 
four  years  of  service  Alaric  had  contrived  to  smooth  down  any 
acerbity  which  had  existed  on  this  score ;  either  the  paper  on 
the  strike-bushel,  or  his  own  general  intelligence,  or  perhaps  a 
certain  amount  of  flattery  which  he  threw  into  his  daily  inter- 
course with  the  chief  clerk,  had  been  efficacious,  and  when  Sir 
Gregory  was  called  upon  to  select  a  man  to  take  with  him  to 
his  new  temporary  office,  he  selected  Alaric  Tudor. 

The  main  effect  which  such  selection  had  upon  our  story 
rises  from  the  circumstance  that  it  led  to  an  introduction  be- 
tween Tudor  and  the  Honorable  Undecimus  Scott,  and  that 
this  introduction  brought  about  a  close  alliance. 

We  will  postpone  for  a  short  while  such  description  of  the 
character  and  position  of  this  gentleman  as  it  may  be  indispen- 
sable to  give,  and  will  in  this  place  merely  say  that  the  Honor- 
able Undecimus  Scott  had  been  chosen  to  act  as  secretary  to 
the  temporary  commission  that  was  now  making  inquiry  as  to 
the  proposed  Civil  Service  examinations,  and  that  in  this  capa- 
city he  was  necessarily  thrown  into  communication  with  Tudor. 
He  was  a  man  who  had  known  much  of  officialities,  had  filled 
many  situations,  was  acquainted  with  nearly  all  the  secretaries, 
assistant-secretaries,  and  private  secretaries  in  London,  had 
been  in  Parliament,  and  was  still  hand-and-glove  with  all  young 
members  who  supported  Government.  Tudor,  therefore,  thought 
it  a  privilege  to  know  him,  and  allowed  himself  to  become,  in  a 
certain  degree, "subject  to  his  influence. 

When  it  was  declared  to  the  world  of  Downing  Street  that 
Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  was  to  be  a  great  man,  to  have  an  office 
of  his  own,  and  to  reign  over  assistant-commissioners  and  subject 
secretaries,  there  was  great  commotion  at  the  Weights  and 
Measures;  and  when  his  letter  of  resignation  was  absolutely 
there,  visible  ^o  the  eyes  of  clerks,  properly  docketed  and  duly 
minuted,  routine  business  was,  for  a  day,  nearly  suspended. 
Gentlemen  walked  in  and  out  from  each  other's  rooms,  asking 
this  momentous  question — Who  was  to  fill  the  chair  which  had 
so  long  been  honored  by  the  great  Hardlines  ?  Who  was  to 
be  thought  worthy  to  wear  that  divine  mantle  ? 

But  even  this  was  not  the  question  of  the  greatest  moment 
which  at  that  period  disturbed  the  peace  of  the  office.  It  was 
well  known  that  the  chief  clerk  must  be  chosen  from  one  of  the 
three  senior  clerks,  and  that  he  would  be  so  chosen  by  the  voice 


SIR   GREGORY   IIARDLINES.  01 

of  tlie  Commissioners.  There  were  only  three  men  who  were 
deeply  interested  in  this  question.  But  who  would  then  be  the 
new  senior  clerk,  and  how  would  he  be  chosen  ?  A  strange 
rumor  began  to  be  afloat  that  th6  new  scheme  of  competitive 
examination  was  about  to  be  tried  in  filling  up  this  vacancy, 
occasioned  by  the  withdrawal  of  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines.  From 
hour  to  hour  the  rumor  gained  ground,  and  men's  minds  began 
to  be  much  disturbed. 

It  w^as  no  wonder  that  men's  minds  should  be  disturbed. 
Competitive  examinations  at  eighteen,  twenty,  and  twenty-two, 
may  be  very  well,  and  give  an  interesting  stimulus  to  young 
men  at  college.  But  it  is  a  fearful  thing  for  a  married  man 
with  a  family,  who  has  long  looked  forward  to  rise  to  a  certain 
income  by  the  worth  of  his  general  conduct  and  by  the  value 
of  his  seniority — it  is  a  fearful  thing  for  such  a  one  to  learn  that 
he  has  again  to  go  through  his  school  tricks,  and  fill  up  exami- 
nation papers,  with  all  his  juniors  round  him  using  their  stout- 
est eff"orts  to  take  his  promised  bread  from  out  of  his  mouth. 
Detur  digno  is  a  maxim  which  W'ill  make  men  do  their  best  to 
merit  rewards ;  every  man  can  find  courage  within  his  heart  to 
be  worthy ;  but  detur  digniori  is  a  fearful  law  for  such  a  pro- 
fession as  the  Civil  Service.  What  worth  can  make  a  man  safe 
against  the  possible  greater  worth  which  will  come  treading  on 
his  heels  ?  The  spirit  of  the  age  raises,  from  year  to  year,  to  a 
higher  level  the  standard  of  education.  The  prodigy  of  1857, 
who  is  now  destroying  all  the  hopes  of  the  man  who  w^as  well 
enough  in  1855,  will  be  a  dunce  to  the  tyro  of  1860. 
•  There  were  three  or  four  in  the  Weights  and  Measures  who 
felt  all  this  with  the  keenest  anxiety.  The  fact  of  their  being- 
there,  and  of  having  passed  the  scrutiny  of  Mr.  Hardlines,  was 
proof  enough  that  they  were  men  of  high  attainments ;  but  then 
the  question  arose  to  them  and  others,  whether  they  were  men 
exactly  of  those  attainments  which  were  now  most  required. 
Who  is  to  say  what  shall  constitute  the  merits  of  the  dignior? 
It  may  one  day  be  conic  sections,  another  Greek  iambics,  and  a 
third  German  philosophy.  Rumor  began  to  say  that  foreign 
languages  were  now  very  desirable.  The  three  excellent  married 
gentlemen  who  stood  first  in  succession  for  the  coveted  promo- 
tion were  great  only  in  their  vernacular. 

Within  a  week  from  the  secession  of  Sir  Gregory,  his 
immediate  successor  had  been  chosen,  and  it  had  been  officially 
declared  that  the  vacant  situation  in  the  senior  class  was  to  be 
thrown  open  as  a  prize  for  the  best  man  in  the  office.     Here 


62  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

was  a  brilliant  chance  for  young  men  !  The  i^lace  was  worth 
600/.  a-year,  and  might  be  gained  by  any  one  Avho  now  received 
no  more  than  100/.  Each  person  desirous  of  competing  was  to 
send  in  his  name  to  the  Secretary,  on  or  before  that  day  fort- 
night ;  and  on  that  day  month,  the  candidates  were  to  present 
themselves  before  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  and  his  board  of  Com- 
missioners. 

And  yet  the  joy  of  the  office  was  by  no  means  great.  The 
senior  of  those  who  might  become  competitors,  was  of  course  a 
miserable,  disgusted  man.  He  went  about  fruitlessly  endeavor- 
ing to  instigate  rebellion  against  Sir  Gregory,  that  very  Sir 
Gregory  whom  he  had  for  many  years  all  but  worshipped.  Poor 
Jones  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  a  piteous  case.  He  told  the 
Secretary  flatly  that  he  would  not  compete  with  a  lot  of  boys 
fresh  from  school,  and  his  friends  began  to  think  of  removing 
his  razors.  Nor  were  Brown  and  Robinson  in  much  better 
plight.  They  both,  it  is  true,  hated  Jones  ruthlessly,  and  desired 
nothing  better  than  an  opportunity  of  supplanting  him.  They 
were,  moreover,  fast  friends  themselves  ;  but  not  the  less  on  that 
account  had  Brown  a  mortal  fear  of  Robinson,  as  also  had 
Robinson  a  mortal  fear  of  Brown. 

Then  came  the  bachelors.  First  there  was  TJppinall,  who, 
when  he  entered  the  office,  was  supposed  to  know  everything 
which  a  young  man  had  ever  known.  Those  who  looked  most 
to  dead  knowledge  were  inclined  to  back  him  as  first  favorite. 
It  had,  however,  been  remarked,  that  his  utility  as  a  clerk  had 
not  been  equal  to  the  profundity  of  his  acquirements.  Of  all 
the  candidates  he  was  the  most  self-confident.  ^^ 

The  next  to  him  was  Mr.  A.  Minusex,  a  wondrous  arithme- 
tician. He  was  one  who  could  do  as  many  sums  without  pen 
and  paper  as  a  learned  pig ;  who  was  so  given  to  figures  that  he 
knew  the  number  of  stairs  in  every  flight  he  had  gone  up  and 
down  in  the  metropolis  ;  one  who,  whatever  the  subject  before 
him  might  be,  never  thought  but  always  counted.  Many  who 
knew  the  peculiar  propensities  of  Sir  Gregory's  earlier  days, 
thought  that  Mr.  Minusex  was  not  an  unlikely  candidate. 

The  sixth  in  order  was  our  fi-iend  Norman.  The  Secretary 
and  the  two  Assistant  Secretaries,  when  they  first  put  their  heads 
together  on  the  matter,  declared  that  he  was  the  most  useful 
man  in  the  office. 

There  was  a  seventh,  named  Alphabet  Precis.  Mr.  Precis' 
peculiar  forte  was  a  singular  happiness  in  official  phraseology. 
Much  that  he  wrote  would  doubtless  have  been  considered  in 


SIR   GREGORY   flAEDLlNES.  63 

tlie  purlieus  of  Paternoster  liow  as  iingrammatical,  if  not  nnin- 
telligible ;  but  according  to  the  syntax  of  Downing  Street,  it 
was  equal  to  Macaulay,  and  superior  to  Gibbon.  He  had 
frequently  said  to  his  intimate  friends,  that  in  official  writing, 
style  was  everything  ;  and  of  his  writing  it  certainly  did  form  a 
very  prominent  part.  He  knew  well,  none  perhaps  so  well, 
wdien  to  beg  leave  to  lay  before  the  Board — and  when  simply  to 
submit  to  the  Commissioners.  He  understood  exactly  to  whom 
it  behoved  the  Secretary  "  to  have  the  honor  of  being  a  very 
humble  servant,"  and  to  whom  the  more  simple  "  I  am,  sir," 
w^as  a  sufficiently  civil  declaration.  These  are  qualification^ 
great  in  official  life,  but  were  not  quite  so  much  esteemed  at  the 
time  of  w^hich  we  are  speaking,  as  they  had  been  some  few  years 
previously. 

There  w^as  but  one  other  named  as  likely  to  stand  with  any 
probability  of  success,  and  he  was  Alaric  Tudor.  Among  the 
very  juniors  of  the  office  he  was  regarded  as  the  great  star  of 
the  office.  There  w^as  a  dash  about  him  and  a  quick  readiness 
for  any  work  that  came  to  hand  in  which,  perhaps,  he  was  not 
equalled  by  any  of  his  compeers.  Then,  too,  he  was  the 
special  friend  o£  Sir  Gregory. 

But  no  one  had  yet  heard  Tudor  say  that  he  intended  to 
compete  with  his  seven  seniors — none  yet  knew  whether  he 
w^ould  put  himself  forward  as  an  adversary  to  his  own  especial 
friend,  Norman.  That  Norman  would  be  a  candidate  had 
been  prominently  stated.  For  some  few  days  not  a  word 
was  spoken,  even  between  the  friends  themselves,  as  to  Tudor's 
intention. 

On  the  Sunday  they  w^ere  as  usual  at  Hampton,  and  then 
the  subject  was  mooted  by  no  less  a  person  than  Captain 
Cuttwater. 

"  So  you  young  gentlemen  up  in  London  are  all  going  to  be 
examined,  are  you?"  said  he;  "what  is  it  to  be  about? 
Who's  to  be  first  lieutenant  of  the  ship,  is  that  it?" 

"  O  no,"  said  Alaric,  "  nothing  half  so  high  as  that.  Boat- 
swain's mate  would  be  nearer  the  mark." 

"  And  w^ho  is  to  be  the  successful  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  Harry  Norman,  here.  He  was  far  the  first  favorite  in 
yesterday's  betting." 

"  And  how  do  you  stand  yourself?"  said  TJncle  Bat. 

"  Oh !  I'm  only  an  outsider,"  said  Alaric.  "  They  put  my 
name  down  just  to  swell  the  number,  but  I  shall  be  scratched 
before  the  running  begins." 


64  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

"  Indeed  he  won't,"  said  Harry.  "  He'll  run  and  distance  us 
all.  There  is  no  one  who  has  a  chance  with  him.  Why  he  is 
Sir  Gregory's  own  pet." 

There  was  nothing  more  said  on  the  subject  at  Surhiton 
Cottage.  The  ladies  seemed  instinctively  to  perceive  that  it 
was  a  matter  which  they  had  better  leave  alone.  Not  only 
were  the  two  young  men  to  be  pitted  against  each  other,  but 
Gertrude  and  Linda  were  as  divided  in  their  wishes  on  the 
subject  as  the  two  candidates  could  be  themselves. 

On  the  following  morning,  however,  Norman  introduced  the 
subject.  "I  suppose  you  were  only  jesting  yesterday,"  said  he, 
"  when  you  told  the  captain  that  you  were  not  going  to  be  a 
candidate  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  can  hardly  say  that  I  was  in  jest  or  in  earnest," 
said  Alaric.  "  I  simply  meant  to  decline  to  discuss  the  subject 
with  Uncle  Bat." 

"  But  of  course  you  do  mean  to  stand?"  said  Harry.  Alaric 
made  no  answer. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  rather  decline  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  me  also  ?"  said  Harry. 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  would  much  prefer  discussing  it  openly  and 
honestly.  My  own  impression  is,  that  I  had  better  leave  it 
alone." 

"  And  why  so  ?"  said  Harry. 

"  Why  so  ?"  repeated  Alaric.  "  Well,  there  are  so  many 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  there  would  be  seven  to  one  against 
me ;  and  I  must  confess  that  if  I  did  stand  I  should  not  like  to 
be  l3eaten." 

"The  same  argument  might  keep  us  all  back,"  said 
Norman. 

"  That's  true  ;  but  one  man  will  be  more  sensitive,  more 
cowardly,  if  you  will,  than  another ;  and  then  I  think  no  one 
should  stand  who  does  not  believe  himself  to  have  a  fair 
chance.  His  doing  so  might  probably  mar  his  future  prospects. 
How  can  I  put  myself  in  competition  Avith  such  men  asJUppin- 
all  and  Minusex  ?" 

Harry  laughed  slightly,  for  he  knew  it  had  been  asked  by 
many  how  such  men  as  XJppinall  and  Minusex  could  think  of 
putting  themselves  in  competition  with  Alaric  Tudor. 

"  That  is  something  like  mock-modesty,  is  it  not,  Alaric  ?" 

"  No,  by  heaven,  it  is  not !  I  know  well  what  those  men 
are  made  of ;  and  I  know,  or  think  I  know,  my  own  abilities. 
I  will  own  that  I  rank  myself   as  a  human  creature  much 


SIR   GEEGORY    HARDLINES.  65 

liiglier  tLan  I  rank  tliem.  But  they  liave  that  which  I  liave 
not,  and  that  which  they  have  is  that  which  these  examiners 
will  chiefly  require." 

"  If  you  have  no  other  reason,"  said  Norman,  "  I  would 
strongly  advise  you  to  send  in  your  name." 

"  Well,  Harry,  I  have  another  reason  ;  and,  though  last,  it  is 
by  no  means  the  least.  You  will  be  a  candidate,  and  probably 
the  successful  one.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  no  inclination 
to  stand  against  you." 

Norman  turned  very  red,  and  then  answered  somewhat 
gravely  :  "  I  would  advise  you  to  lay  aside  that  objection.  I 
fairly  tell  you  that  I  consider  your  chance  better  than  my  own." 

"  And  suppose  it  be  so,  which  I  am  sure  it  is  not — but  sup- 
pose it  be  so,  what  then  ?" 

"  Why,  you  will  do  right  to  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  Yes,  and  so  gain  a  step  and  lose  a  friend  !"  said  Alaric. 
"  No  ;  there  can  be  no  heartburn  to  me  in  your  being  selected, 
for  though  I  am  older  than  you,  you  are  my  senior  in  the  office. 
But  were  I  to  be  put  over  your  head,  it  would  in  the  course  of 
nature  make  a  division  between  us ;  and  if  it  were  possible  that 
you  should  forgive  it,  it  would  be  quite  impossible  that  Gertrude 
.  should  do  so.  I  value  your  friendship  and  that  of  the  Wood- 
wards too  highly  to  risk  it." 

Norman  instantly  fired  up  with  true  generous  energy. 

"I  should  be  wretched,"  said  he,  "if  I  thought  that  such  a 
consideration  weighed  with  you;  I  would  rather  withdraw 
myself  than  allow  such  a  feeling  to  interfere  with  your  pros- 
pects. Indeed,  after  what  you  have  said,  I  shall  not  send  in 
my  own  name  unless  you  also  send  in  yours." 

"  I  shall  only  be  creating  fuel  for  a  feud,"  said  Alaric.  "  To 
put  you  out  of  the  question,  no  promotion  could  compensate  to 
me  for  what  I  should  lose  at  Hampton." 

"  Nonsense,  man ;  you  would  lose  nothing.  Faith,  I  don't 
know  whether  it  is  not  I  that  should  lose,  if  I  were  successful 
at  your  expense." 

"  How  would  Gertrude  receive  me  V  said  Alaric,  pushing  the 
matter  further  than  he  perhaps  should  have  done. 

"  We  won't  mind  Gertrude,"  said  Norman,  with  a  little  shade 
of  black  upon  his  brow.  "  You  are  an  older  man  than  I,  and 
therefore  promotion  is  to  you  of  more  importance  than  to  me. 
You  are  also  a  poorer  man.  I  have  some  means  besides  that 
drawn  from  my  office,  which,  if  I  marry,  I  can  settle  on  my 
wife ;  you  have  none  such.     I  should  consider  myself  to  be 


60  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

worse  than  wicked  if  I  allowed  any  consideration  of  sucli  a 
nature  to  stand  in  the  way  of  your  best  interests.  Believe  me, 
Alaric,  that  though  I  shall,  as  others,  be  anxious  for  success 
myself,  I  should,  in  failing,  be  much  consoled  by  knowing  that 
you  had  succeeded."  And  as  he  finished  speaking  he  grasped 
his  friend's  hand  warmly  in  token  of  the  truth  of  his  asser- 
tion. 

Alaric  brushed  a  tear  from  his  eye,  and  ended  by  promising 
to  be  guided  by  his  friend's  advice.  Harry  Norman,  as  he 
walked  into  the  office,  felt  a  glow  of  triumph  as  he  reflected 
that  he  had  done  his  duty  by  his  friend  with  true  disinterested 
honesty.  And  Alaric,  he  also  felt  a  glow  of  triumph  as  he 
reflected  that,  come  what  might,  there  would  be  now  no  necessity 
for  him  to  break  with  Norman  or  with  the  Woodwards.  Nor- 
man must  now  always  remember  that  it  was  at  his  own  instiga- 
tion that  he,  Alaric,  had  consented  to  be  a  candidate. 

As  regarded  the  real  fact  of  the  candidature,  the  prize  was 
too  great  to  allow  of  his  throwing  away  such  a  chance. 
Alaric's  present  income  was  200/.;  that  which  he  hoped  to 
gain  was  600/. ! 


CHAPTER  YH. 

MR.    FIDUS     NEVERBEND. 


Immediately  on  entering  the  office,  Tudor  gave  it  to  be 
understood  that  he  intended  to  give  in  his  name  as  a  candidate ; 
but  he  had  hardly  done  so  when  his  attention  was  called  off 
from  the  coming  examinations  by  another  circumstance,  which 
was  ultimately  of  great  importance  to  him.  One  of  the  Assist- 
ant-Secretaries sent  for  him,  and  told  him  that  his  services 
having  been  required  by  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  for  a  week  or 
so,  he  was  at  once  to  go  over  to  that  gentleman's  office  ;  and 
Alaric  could  perceive  that,  as  Sir  Gregory'-s  name  was  men- 
tioned, the  Assistant-Secretary  smiled  on  him  with  no  aspect  of 
benign  solicitude. 

He  went  over  accordingly,  and  found  that  Sir  Gregory, 
having  been  desired  to  select  a  man  for  a  special  service  in  the 
country,  had  named  him.  He  was  to  go  down  to  Tavistock 
with  another  gentleman  from  the  Woods  and  Forests,  for  the 
purpose  of  settling  some  disputed  point  as  to  the  boundaries 
and  privileges  of  certain  mines  situated  there  on  Crown 
property. 


Mil.    FIDUS   NEVEEBEND.  6V 

"You  know  nothing  about  mining,  I  presume?"  said  Sir 
Gregory. 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  said  Alaric. 

"  I  thought  not ;  that  was  one  reason  why  I  selected  you. 
What  is  wanted  is  a  man  of  sharp  intelligence  and  plain  com- 
mon sense,  and  one  also  who  can  write  English  ;  for  it  will  fall 
to  your  lot  to  draw  up  the  report  on  the  matter.  Mr.  Neverbend, 
who  is  to  be  your  colleague,  cannot  put  two  words  together." 

"  Mr.  Neverbend !  "  said  Alaric. 

"  Yes,  Fidus  Neverbend,  of  the  Woods  and  Forests ;  a  very 
excellent  public  servant,  and  one  in  whom  the  fullest  confidence 
can  be  phiciid.-  'But  between  you  and  me,  he  will  never  set  the 
Thames  on  fire." 

"  Does  he  understand  mining  ? "  asked  Alaric. 

"  He  understands  Government  properties,  and  will  take  care 
that  the  Crown  be  not  wronged ;  but,  Tudor,  the  Government 
will  look  to  you  to  get  the  true  common-sense  view  of  the  case. 
I  trust — I  mean  that  I  really  do  trust,  that  you  will  not  disgrace 
my  choice." 

Alaric  of  course  promised  that  he  would  do  his  best,  expressed 
the  deepest  gratitude  to  his  patron,  and  went  off  to  put  himself 
into  communication  wath  Mr.  Neverbend  at  the  Woods  and 
Forests,  having  received  an  assurance  that  the  examination  in 
his  own  office  should  not  take  place  till  after  his  return  from 
Tavistock.  He  was  not  slow  to  perceive  that  if  he  could 
manage  to  come  back  with  all  the  eclat  of  a  successful  mission, 
the  prestige  of  such  a  journey  would  go  far  to  assist  him  on  his 
coming  trial. 

Mr.  Fidus  Neverbend  was  an  absolute  dragon  of  honesty. 
His  integrity  was  of  such  an  all-pervading  nature,  that  he 
bristled  with  it  as  a  porcupine  does  with  its  quills.  He  had 
theories  and  axioms  as  to  a  man's  conduct,  and  the  conduct 
especially  of  a  man  in  the  Queen's  Civil  Service,  up  to  which 
no  man  but  himself  could  live.  Consequently  no  one  but  him- 
self appeared  to  himself  to  be  true  and  just  in  all  his  dealings. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  spent  over  a  newspaper  was  in  his  eyes 
a  downright  robbery.  If  he  saw  a  man  so  employed,  he  would 
divide  out  the  total  of  salary  into  hourly  portions,  and  tell  him 
to  a  fraction  of  how  much  he  was  defrauding  the  public.  If  he 
ate  a  biscuit  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  he  did  so  with  his  eyes 
firmly  fixed  on  some  document,  and  he  had  never  been  known 
to  be  absent  from  his  office  after  ten  or  before  four. 

When  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  declared  that  Mr.  Fidus  Never- 


68  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

bend  would  never  set  the  Thames  on  fire,  he  meant  to  express 
his  opinion  that  that  gentleman  was  a  fool ;  and  that  those 
persons  who  were  responsible  for  sending  Mr.  Neverbend  on  the 
mission  now  about  to  be  undertaken,  were  little  better  than 
fools  themselves  for  so  sending  him.  But  Mr.  Neverbend  was 
no  fool.  He  was  not  a  disciple  of  Sir  Gregory's  school.  He  ' 
had  never  sat  in  that  philosopher's  porch,  or  listened  to  'the 
high  doctrines  prevalent  at  the  Weights  and  Measures.  He 
could  not  write  with  all  Mr.  Precis'  conventional  correctness, 
or  dispose  of  any  subject  at  a  moment's  notice  as  would  Mr. 
Uppinall ;  but,  nevertheless,  he  was  no  fool.  Sir  Gregory,  like 
many  other  wise  men,  thought  that  there  were  no  swans  but  of 
his  own  hatching,  and  would  ask,  with  all  the  pompous  conceit 
of  Pharisees  in  another  age,  whether  good  could  come  out  of 
the  Woods  and  Forests  ? 

Sir  Gregory,  however,  perfectly  succeeded  in  his  object  of 
imbuing  Tudor  with  a  very  indifferent  opinion  of  his  new 
colleague's  abilities.  It  was  his  object  that  Tudor  should 
altogether  take  the  upper  hand  in  the  piece  of  work  which'was 
to  be  done  between  them,  and  that  it  should  be  clearly  proved* 
how  very  incapable  the  Woods  tnd  Forests  were  of  doing  their 
own  business. 

Mr.  Fidus  Neverbend,  however,  whatever  others  in  the  outer 
world  might  think  of  him,  had  a  high  character  in  his  own 
oiEce,  and  did  not  under-estimate  himself.  He,  when  he  was 
told  that  a  young  clerk  named  Tudor  was  to  accompany  him, 
conceived  that  he  might  look  on  his  companion  rather  in  the 
light  of  a  temporary  private  secretary  than  an  equal  partner, 
and  imagined  that  new  glory  was  added  to  him  by  his  being  so 
treated.  The  two  men  therefore  met  each  other  with  very 
different  views. 

But  though  Mr.  Neverbend  was  no  fool,  he  was  not  an  equal 
either  in  tact  or  ability  to  Alaric  Tudor.  Alaric  had  his  inter- 
view with  him,  and  was  not  slow  to  perceive  the  sort  of  man 
with  whom  he  had  to  act.  Of  course,  on  this  occasion,  little 
more  than  grimaces  and  civility  passed  between  them ;  but  Mr. 
Neverbend,  even  in  his  grimaces  and  civility,  managed  to  show 
that  he  regarded  himself  as  decidedly  No.  1  upon  the  occasion. 

"Well,  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  he,  "I  think  of  starting  on  Tues- 
day.    Tuesday  will  not,  I  suppose,  be  inconvenient  to  you?" 

"  Sir  Gregory  has  already  told  me  that  we  are  expected  to  be 
at  Tavistock  on  Tuesday  evening." 

"  Ah  !  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Neverbend  ;  "  that  may 


MR.    FIDUS    NEVEEBEND.  69 

be  all  very  well  for  Sir  Gregory,  but  I  rather  think  I  shall  stay 
the  night  at  Plymouth." 

"  It  will  be  the  same  to  me,"  said  Tudor ;  "  I  haven't  looked 
at  the  papers  yet,  so  I  can  hardly  say  what  may  be  necessary." 

"No,  no;  of  course  not.  As  to  the  papers,  I  don't  know 
that  there  is  much  with  which  you  need  trouble  yourself.  I 
believe  I  am  pretty  well  up  in  the  case.  But,  Mr.  Tudor,  there 
will  be  a  good  deal  of  writing  to  do  when  we  are  there." 

"  We  are  both  used  to  that,  I  fancy,"  said  Tudor,  "  so  it  won't 
kill  us." 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  understand  that  there  will  be  a  good 
many  people  for  me  to  see,  a  great  many  conflicting  interests 
for  me  to  reconcile  ;  and  probably  I  may  find  myself  obliged  to 
go  down  two  or  three  of  these  mines." 

"  Well,  that  will  be  good  fun,"  said  Alaric. 

Neverbend  drew  himself  up.  The  idear-of-iiayiiig-funjit  the 
cost  of  Government  was  painful  to  him ;  however,  he  spared 
the  stranger  his  reproaches,  and  merely  remarked  that  the  work 
he  surmised  would  be  heavy  enough  both  for  the  man  who  went 
below  ground,  and  for  the  one  who  remained  above. 

The  only  point  settled  between  them  was  that  of  their  start- 
ing by  an  early  train  on  the  Tuesday  named ;  and  then  Alaric 
returned  to  Sir  Gregory's  ofiice,  there  to  read  through  and 
digest  an  immense  bulk  of  papers  all  bearing  on  the  question  at 
issue.  There  had,  it  appeared,  been  lately  opened  between  the 
Tamar  and  the  Tavy  a  new  mine,  which  had  become  exceed- 
ingly prosperous — outrageously  prosperous,  as  shareholders  and 
directors  of  neighboring  mines  taught  themselves  to  believe. 
Some  question  had  arisen  as  to  the  limits  to  which  the  happy 
possessors  of  this  new  tin  El  Dorado  were  entitled  to  go ;  squab- 
bles, of  course,  had  been  the  result,  and  miners  and  masters 
had  fought  and  bled,  each  side  in  defence  of  its  own  rights.  As 
a  portion  of  these  mines  were  on  Crown  property  it  became 
necessary  that  the  matter  should  be  looked  to,  and  as  the  local 
inspector  was  accused  of  having  been  bribed  and  bought,  and 
of  being,  in  fact,  an  absolute  ofiicial  _  Judas,  it  became  necessary 
to  send  some  one  to  inspect  the  inspector.  Hence  had  come 
AJaric's  mission.  The  name  of  the  mine  in  question  was 
Wheal  Mary  Jane,  and  Alaric  had  read  the  denomination  half 
a  score  of  times  before  he  learnt  that  there  was  no  real  female 
in  the  case. 

The  Sunday  before  he  went  was  of  course  passed  at  Hamp- 
ton, and  there  he  received  the  full  glory  of  his  special  appoint- 


YO  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

ment.  He  received  glory,  and  Norman  in  an  eqnal  degree  fell 
into  the  background.  Mrs.  Woodward  stuck  kindly  to  Harry, 
and  endeavored,  in  her  gentle  way,  to  quiz  the  projected  trip  to 
Devonshire.  But  the  other  party  was  too  strong,  and  her  rail- 
lery failed  to  have  the  intended  effect.  Gertrude  especially 
expressed  her  opinion  that  it  was  a  great  thing  for  so  young  a 
man  to  have  been  selected  for  such  employment  by  such  a  per- 
son ;  and  Linda,  though  she  said  less,  could  not  prevent  her 
tell-tale  face  from  saying  more.  Katie  predicted  that  Alaric 
would  certainly  marry  Mary  Jane  AVheal,  and  bring  her  to 
Surbiton  Cottage,  and  Captain  Cuttwater  offered  to  the  hero 
introductions  to  all  the  old  naval  officers  at  Devonport. 

"  By  jingo !  I  should  like  to  go  with  you,"  said  the  captain. 

"  I  fear  the  pleasure  would  not  repay  the  trouble,"  said  Alaric, 
laughing. 

"  Upon  my  word  I  think  I'll  do  it,"  said  the  captain.  "  It 
would  be  of  the  greatest  possible  service  to  you  as  an  officer  of 
the  Crown.  It  would  give  you  so  much  weight  there.  I  could 
make  you  known,  you  know " 

"  I  could  not  hear  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Alaric,  trembling  at 
the  idea  which  Uncle  Bat  had  conjured  up. 

"  There  is  Admiral  Starbod,  and  Captain  Focassel,  and  old 
Hardaport,  and  Sir  Jib  Boom — why,  d — n  me,  they  would  all 
do  anything  for  me — craving  the  ladies'  pardon.'' 

Alaric,  in  his  own  defence,  was  obliged  to  declare  that  the 
rules  of  the  service  especially  required  that  he  should  hold  no 
friendly  communication  with  any  one  during  the  time  that  he 
was  employed  on  this  special  service.  Poor  Captain  Cuttwater, 
grieved  to  have  his  good-nature  checked,  was  obliged  to  put  up 
with  this  excuse,  and  consoled  himself  with  abusing  the  Govern- 
ment which  could  condescend  to  give  so  absurd  an  order. 

This  was  on  the  Saturday.  On  the  Sunday,  going  to  church, 
the  Captain  suggested  that  Alaric  might,  at  any  rate,  just  call 
upon  Sir  Jib  on  the  sly.  "  It  would  be  a  great  thing  for  you," 
said  Uncle  Bat.  "  I'll  write  a  note  to-night,  and  you  can  take 
it  with  you.  Sir  Jib  is  a  rising  man,  and  you'll  regret  it  for 
ever  if  you  miss  the  opportunity."  Now  Sir  Jib  Boom  was  be- 
tween seventy  and  eighty,  and  he  and  Captain  Cuttwater  had 
met  each  other  nearly  every  day  for  the  last  twenty  years,  and 
had  never  met  without  a  squabble. 

After  church  they  had  their  usual  walk,  and  Linda's  heart 
palpitated  as  she  thought  that  she  might  have  to  undergo 
another  tete-d-tete  with  her  lover.     But  it  palpitated  in  vain.     It 


MR.    FIDUS   NEVEEBEND.  Vl 

SO  turned  out  that  Alaric  either  avoided,  or,  at  any  rate,  did  not 
use  the  privilege,  and  Linda  returned  home  with  an  undefined 
feeling  of  gentle  disappointment.  She  had  fully  made  up  her 
mind  to  be  very  staid,  very  discreet,  and  very  collected ;  to  take 
a  leaf  out  of  her  sister's  book,  and  give  him  no  encouragement 
whatever ;  she  would  not  absolutely  swear  to  him  that  she  did 
not  now,  and  never  could,  return  his  passion  ;  but  she  would 
point  out  how  very  imprudent  any  engagement  between  two 
young  persons,  situated  as  they  were,  must  be — how  foolish  it 
would  be  for  them  to  bind  themselves,  for  any  number  of  years, 
to  a  marriage  which  must  be  postponed  ;  she  would  tell  Alaric 
all  this,  and  make  him  understand  that  he  was  not  to  regard 
himself  as  affianced  to  her  ;  but  she  with  a  woman's  faith  would, 
nevertheless,  remain  true  to  him.  This  was  Linda's  great 
resolve,  and  the  strong  hope,  that  in  a  very  few  weeks,  Alaric 
would  be  promoted  to  a  marrying  income  of  600^.  per  annum, 
made  the  prospect  of  the  task  not  so  painful  as  it  might  other- 
wise have  been.  Fate,  however,  robbed  her  of  the  pleasure,  if 
it  would  have  been  a  pleasure,  of  sacrificing  her  love  to  her  duty ; 
and  "  dear  Linda,  dearest  Linda,"  was  not  again  whispered  into 
her  ear. 

"  And  what  on  earth  is  it  that  you  are  to  do  down  in  the 
mines  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Woodward,  as  they  sat  together  in  the 
evening. 

"  Nothing  on  the  earth,  Mrs.  Woodward — it  is  to  be  all  below 
the  surface,  forty  fathom  deep,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Take  care  that  you  ever  come  up  again,"  said  she. 

"  They  say  the  mine  is  exceedingly  rich — perhaps  I  may  be 
tempted  to  stay  down  there." 

"Then  you'll  be  like  the  gloomy  gnome,  that  lives  in  dark, 
cold  mines,"  said  Katie. 

"  Isn't  it  very  dangerous,  going  down  into  those  places  ?" 
asked  Linda. 

"  Men  go  down  and  come  up  again  every  day  of  their  lives, 
and  what  other  men  can  do,  I  can,  I  suppose." 

"  That  doesn't  follow  at  all,"  said  Captain  Cuttwater.  "  What 
sort  of  a  figure  would  you  make  on  a  yard-arm,  reefing  a  sail  in 
a  gale  of  wind?" 

"  Pray  do  take  care  of  yourself,"  said  Gertrude. 

Norman's  brow  grew  black.  "  I  thought  that  it  was  settled 
that  Mr.  Neverbend  was  to  go  down,  and  that  you  were  to  stay 
above  ground,"  said  he. 

"  So  Mr.  Neverbend  settled  it ;  but  that  arrangement  may, 


72  THE   THRKE   CLERKS. 

perhaps,  be  unsettled  again,"  said  Alaric,  with  a  certain  feeling 
of  confidence  in  his  own  strong  will. 

"  I  don't  at  all  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  that  if  we  were 
to  get  a  sly  peep  at  you,  we  should  find  you  both  sitting  com- 
fortably at  your  inn  all  the  time,  and  that  neither  of  you  will  go 
a  foot  below  the  ground." 

"  Very  likely.  All  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  if  Neverbend  goes 
down  I'll  go  too." 

"  But  mind,  you  gloomy  gnome,  mind  you  bring  up  a  bit  of 
gold  for  me,"  said  Katie. 

On  the  Monday  morning  he  started  with  the  often-expressed 
good  wishes  of  all  the  party,  and  with  a  note  for  Sir  Jib  Boom, 
which  the  Captain  made  him  promise  that  he  would  deliver,  and 
which  Alaric  fully  determined  to  lose  long  before  he  got  to 
Plymouth. 

That  evening  he  and  Norman  passed  together.  As  soon 
as  their  office  hours  were  over,  they  went  into  the  London 
Exhibition,  which  was  then  open ;  and  there,  walking  up  and 
down  the  long  centre  aisle,  they  talked  with  something  like 
mutual  confidence  of  their  future  prospects.  This  was  a 
favorite  resort  with  Norman,  who  had  schooled  himself  to  feel 
an  interest  in  works  of  art.  Alaric's  mind  was  of  a  different 
cast ;  he  panted  rather  for  the  great  than  the  beautiful ;  and 
was  inclined  to  ridicule  the  growing  taste  of  the  day  for  torsos, 
Palissy  ware,  and  Assyrian  monsters. 

There  was  then  some  mutual  confidence  between  the  two 
young  men.  Norman,  who  was  apt  to  examine  himself  and 
his  own  motives  more  strictly  than  Alaric  ever  did,  had  felt 
that  something  like  suspicion  as  to  his  friend  had  crept  over 
him ;  and  he  had  felt  also  that  there  was  no  ground  for  such 
suspicion.  He  had  determined  to  throw  it  off,  and  to  be  again 
cordial  with  his  companion.  He  had  resolved  so  to  do  before 
his  last  visit  at  Hampton ;  but  it  was  at  Hampton  that  the 
suspicion  had  been  engendered,  and  there  he  found  himself 
unable  to  be  genial,  kindly,  and  contented.  Surbiton  Cottage 
was  becoming  to  him  anything  but  the  abode  of  happiness  that 
it  had  once  been.  A  year  ago  he  had  been  the  hero  of  the 
Hampton  Sundays ;  he  could  not  but  now  feel  that  Alaric  had, 
as  it  were,  supplanted  him  with  his  own  friends.  The  arrival 
even  of  so  insignificant  a  person  as  Captain  Cuttwater — and 
Captain  Cuttwater  was  very  insignificant  in  Norman's  mind — 
had  done  much  to  produce  this  state  of  things.  He  had  been 
turned  out  of  his  bedroom  at  the  cottage,  and  had   therefore 


MK.    FIDUS   NEVERBEXD.  73 

lost  those  last,  loving,  lingering  words,  sometimes  protracted  to 
so  late  an  hour,  which  had  been  customary  after  Alaric's 
departure  to  his  inn — those  last  lingering  words  which  had 
been  so  sweet  because  their  sweetness  had  not  been  shared  with 
his  friend. 

He  could  not  be  genial  and  happy  at  Surbiton  Cottage ;  but 
he  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  himself  that  he  should  not 
have  been  so.  When  he  found  that  he  had  been  surly  with 
Alaric,  he  was  much  more  angry  with  himself  than  Alaric  was 
with  him.  Alaric,  indeed,  was  indifferent  about  it.  He  had 
no  wish  to  triumph  over  Harry,  but  he  had  an  object  to  pursue, 
and  he  was  not  the  man  to  allow  himself  to  be  diverted  from  it 
by  any  one's  caprice. 

"  This  trip  is  a  great  thing  for  you,"  said  Harry. 

"  AYell,  I  really  don't  know.  Of  course  I  could  not  decline 
it ;  but  on  the  whole  I  should  be  just  as  well  pleased  to  have 
been  spared.  If  I  get  through  it  well,  why  it  will  be  well. 
But  even  that  cannot  help  me  at  this  examination." 

"  I  don't  know  that." 

"  Why — a  week  passed  in  the  slush  of  a  Cornish  mine  won't 
teach  a  man  algebra." 

"It  will  give  yon  prestige  r 

"  Then  you  mean  to  say  the  examiners  won't  examine  fairly ; 
well,  perhaps  so.  But  what  will  be  the  effect  on  me  if  I  fail  ? 
I  know  nothing  of  mines.  I  have  a  colleague  with  me  of 
whom  I  can  only  learn  that  he  is  not  weak  enough  to  be  led, 
or  wise  enough  to  lead  ;  who  is  so  self-opinionated  that  he  thinks 
he  is  to  do  the  whole  work  himself,  and  yet  so  jealous  that  he 
fears  I  shall  take  the  very  bread  out  of  his  mouth.  What  am 
I  to  do  with  such  a  man  ?" 

"  You  must  manage  him,"  said  Harry. 

"  That  is  much  easier  said  than  done,"  replied  Alaric.  "  I 
wish  you  had  the  task  instead  of  me." 

"  So  do  not  I.  Sir  Gregory,  when  he  chose  you,  knew  what 
he  was  about." 

"  Upon  my  w^ord,  Harry,  you  are  full  of  compliments  to-day. 
I  really  ought  to  take  my  hat  off." 

"  No,  I  am  not ;  I  am  in  no  mood  for  compliments.  I  know 
very  well  what  stuff  you  are  made  of.  I  know  your  superiority 
to  myself.  I  know  you  will  be  selected  to  go  up  over  all  our 
heads.  I  feel  all  this ;  and  Alaric,  you  must  not  be  surprised 
that,  to  a  certain  degree,  it  is  painful  to  me  to  feel  it.  But  by 
God's  help  I  will  get  over  it ;  and  if  you  succeed  it  shall  go 

4 


74  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

hard  with  me,  but  I  will  teach  myself  to  rejoice  at  it.  Look 
at  that  fawn  there,"  said  he,  turning  away  his  face  to 
hide  the  tear  in  his  eye ;  "  did  you  ever  see  more  perfect 
motion  ?" 

Alaric  was  touched ;  but  there  was  more  triumph  than 
sympathy  in  his  heart.  It  was  sweet,  much  too  sweet,  to 
him  to  hear  his  superiority  thus  acknowledged.  He  was 
superior  to  the  men  who  worked  round  him  in  his  office.  He 
was  made  of  a  more  plastic  clay  than  they,  and  despite  the 
inferiority  of  his  education,  he  knew  himself  to  be  fit  for  higher 
work  than  they  could  do.  As  the  acknowledgment  was  made 
to  him  by  the  man  whom,  of  those  around  him,  he  certainly 
ranked  second  to  himself,  he  could  not  but  feel  that  his  heart's 
blood  ran  warm  within  him,  he  could  not  but  tread  with  an 
elastic  step. 

But  it  behoved  him  to  answer  Harry,  and  to  answer  him  in 
other  spirit  than  this. 

"  Oh,  Harry,"  said  he,  "  you  have  some  plot  to  ruin  me  by 
my  own  conceit ;  to  make  me  blow  myself  out  and  destroy 
myself,  poor  frog  that  I  am,  in  trying  to  loom  as  largely  as  that 
great  cow,  Fidus  Neverbend.  You  know  I  am  fully  conscious 
how  much  inferior  my  education  has  been  to  yours." 

"  Education  is  nothing,"  said  Harry. 

Education  is  nothing!  Alaric  triumphantly  re-echoed  the 
words  in  his  heart — "  Education  is  nothing — mind,  mind  is 
everything ;  mind  and  the  will."  So  he  expressed  himself  to 
his  own  inner  self;  but  out  loud  he  spoke  much  more  courte- 
ously. 

"  It  is  the  innate  modesty  of  your  own  heart,  Harry,  that 
makes  you  think  so  highly  of  me  and  so  meanly  of  yourself. 
But  the  proof  of  what  we  each  can  do  is  yet  to  be  seen.  Years 
alone  can  decide  that.  That  your  career  will  be  honorable  and 
happy,  of  that  I  feel  fully  sure !  I  wish  I  were  as  confident  of 
mine." 

"  But,  Alaric,"  said  Norman,  going  on  rather  with  the  thread 
of  his  own  thoughts,  than  answering  or  intending  to  answer 
what  the  other  said,  "  in  following  up  your  high  ambition — and 
I  know  you  have  a  high  ambition — do  not  allow  yourself  to 
believe  that  the  end  justifies  the  means,  because  you  see  that 
men  around  you  act  as  though  they  believed  so." 

"  Do  I  do  so — do  I  seem  to  do  so  ?"  said  Alaric,  turning 
sharply  round. 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  A^laric ;  don't  think  that  I  want 


Mil.    FIDUS   NEVEEBEND.  76 

to  preacli ;  but  sometimes  I  fancy,  not  that  you  do  so,  but  that 
your  mind  is  turning  that  way ;  that  in  your  eager  desire  for 
honorable  success,  you  won't  scrutinise  the  steps  you  will  have 
to  take." 

"  That  I  would  get  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  in  short,  even 
though  the  hill-side  be  miry.  AVell,  I  own  I  wish  to  get  to  the 
top  of  the  hill." 

"  But  not  to  defile  yourself  in  doing  so." 

"  When  a  man  comes  home  from  a  successful  chase,  with 
his  bag  well  stuffed  with  game,  the  women  do  not  quarrel  with 
him  because  there  is  mud  on  his  gaiters." 

"  Alaric,  that  which  is  evil  is  evil.     Lies  are  evil " 

"And  am  I  a  liar?" 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  say  so :  heaven  forbid  that  I 
should  have  to  think  so  !  but  it  is  by  such  doctrines  as  that  that 
men  become  liars." 

"  What !  by  having  muddy  gaiters  ?" 

"  By  disregarding  the  means  in  looking  to  the  end." 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  how  men  become  mere  vegetables,  by 
filling  their  minds  with  useless — needless  scruples — by  straining 
at  gnats " 

"  Well,  finish  your  quotation,"  said  Harry. 

"  I  have  finished  it ;  in  speaking  to  you  I  would  not  for  the 
world  go  on,  and  seem  to  insinuate  that  you  would  swallow  a 
camel.  No  insinuation  could  be  more  base  or  unjust.  But, 
nevertheless,  I  think  you  may  be  too  over-scrupulous.  What 
great  man  ever  rose  to  greatness,"  continued  Alaric,  after  they 
had  walked  nearly  the  length  of  the  building  in  silence,  "_-whoy 
thought  it  necessary  to  pick  his  steps  in  the  manner  you  have 
described?" 

"  Then  I  would  not  be  great,"  said  Harry. 

"  But,  surely,  God  intends  that  there  shall  be  great  men  on 
the  earth  ?" 

"  He  certainly  wishes  that  there  should  be  good  men,"  said 
Harry. 

"  And  cannot  a  man  be  good  and  great  ?" 

"  That  is  the  problem  for  a  man  to  solve.  Do  you  try  that. 
Good  you  certainly  can  be,  if  you  look  to  him  for  assistance. 
Let  that  come  first ;  and  then  the  greatness,  if  that  be  possible." 

' "  It  is  all  a  quibble  about  a  word,"  said  Alaric.  "  What  is 
good  ?  David  Avas  a  man  after  God's  own  heart,  and  a  great 
man  too,  and  yet  he  did  things  which,  were  I  to  do,  I  should 
be  too  base  to  live.     Look  at  Jacob — how  did  he  achieve  the 


76  THE   THREE   CLEKKS. 

tremendous  riglits  of  patriarchal  primogeniture?  But,  come, 
the  policemen  are  trying  to  get  rid  of  us ;  it  is  time  for  us  to 
go,"  and  so  they  left  the  building,  and  passed  the  remainder  of 
the  evening  in  concord  together — in  concord  so  soon  to  be 
dissolved,  and,  ah  !  perhaps  never  to  be  renewed. 

On  the  next  morning  Alaric  and  his  new  companion  met 
each  other  at  an  early  hour  at  the  Paddington  station.  Never- 
bend  was  rather  fussy  wnth  his  dispatch-box,  and  a  large  official 
packet,  which  an  office  messenger,  dashing  up  in  a  cab,  brought 
to  him  at  the  moment  of  his  departure.  Neverbend's  enemies 
were  wont  to  declare  that  a  messenger,  a  cab,  and  a  big  packet 
always  rushed  up  at  the  moment  of  his  starting  on  any  of  his 
official  trips.  Then  he  had  his  ticket  to  get  and  his  "  Times" 
to  buy,  and  he  really  had  not  leisure  to  do  more  than  nod  at 
Alaric  till  he  had  folded  his  rug  around  him,  tried  that  the 
cushion  was  soft  enough,  and  completed  his  arrangements  for 
the  journey. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Tudor,"  at  last  he  said,  as  soon  as  the  train  was 
in  motion,  "  and  how  are  you  this  morning — ready  for  work  I 
hope?" 

"  Well,  not  exactly  at  this  moment,"  said  Alaric.  "  One  has 
to  get  up  so  early  for  these  morning  trains." 

"  Early,  Mr.  Tudor  !  my  idea  is  that  no  hour  should  be  con- 
sidered either  early  or  late  when  the  Crown  requires  our  ser- 
vices." 

"  Just  at  present  the  Crown  requires  nothing  else  of  us,  I  sup- 
pose, but  that  we  should  go  along  at  the  rate  of  forty  miles  an 
hour." 

"  There  is  nothing  like  saving  time,"  said  Neverbend.  *'  I 
know  you  have,  as  yet,  had  no  experience  in  these  sort  of  cases, 
so  I  have  brought  you  the  papers  which  refer  to  a  somewhat 
similar  matter  that  occurred  in  the  Forest  of  Dean.  I  was  sent 
down  there,  and  this  is  the  report  which  I  then  wrote.  I  pro- 
pose to  take  it  for  the  model  of  that  which  we  shall  have  to 
draw  up  when  we  return  from  Tavistock ;"  and  as  he  spoke  he 
produced  a  voluminous  document,  or  treatise,  in  which  he  had 
contrived  to  render  more  obscure  some  matter  that  he  had  been 
sent  to  clear  up,  on  the  Crown  property  in  the  Forest  of  Dean. 

Now  Alaric  had  been  told  of  this  very  report,  and  was  aware 
that  he  was  going  to  Tavistock,  in  order  that  the  joint  result  of 
his  and  Mr.  Neverbend's  labors  might  be  communicated  to  the 
Crown  officers  in  intelligible  language. 

The  monster  report  before  him  contained  twenty-six  pages  of 


MR.   FIDUS   NEVERBEND.  77 

close  folio  writing,  and  he  felt  that  he  really  could  not  oblige 
Mr.  Neverbend  by  reading  it. 

"  Forest  of  Dean  !  ah,  that's  coal,  is  it  not  ?"  said  Alaric. 
"  Mary  Jane  seems  to  be  exclusively  in  the  tin  line.  I  fear 
there  will  be  no  analogy." 

"  The  cases  are  in  many  respects  similar,"  said  Neverbend, 
"  and  the  method  of  treating  them " 

"  Then  I  really  cannot  concur  with  you  as  to  the  propriety 
of  my  reading  it.  I  should  feel  myself  absolutely  wrong  to  read 
a  word  of  such  a  report,  for  fear  I  might  be  prejudiced  by  your 
view  of  the  case.  It  would,  in  my  mind,  be  positively  dishonest 
in  me  to  encourage  any  bias  in  my  own  feelings  either  on  one 
side  or  the  other." 

"  But  really,  Mr.  Tudor " 

"  I  need  not  say  how  much  personal  advantage  it  would  be 
to  me  to  have  the  benefit  of  your  experience,  but  my  conscience 
tells  me  that  I  should  not  do  it — so  I  think  I'll  go  to  sleep." 

Mr.  Neverbend  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  his  companion ; 
whether  to  admire  the  high  tone  of  his  official  honesty,  or  to 
reprobate  his  idleness  in  refusing  to  make  himself  master  of  the 
report.  While  he  was  settling  the  question  in  his  own  mind, 
Tudor  went  to  sleep,  and  did  not  wake  till  he  was  invited  to 
partake  of  ten  minutes'  refreshment  at  Swindon. 

"  I  rather  think,"  said  Mr.  Neverbend,  "  that  I  shall  go  on  to 
Tavistock  to-night." 

"  Oh  !  of  course,"  said  Alaric.  "  I  never  for  a  moment 
thought  of  stopping  short  of  it ;"  and,  taking  out  a  book,  he 
showed  himself  disinclined  for  further  conversation. 

"  Of  course,  it's  open  to  me  to  do  as  I  please  in  such  a  mat- 
ter," said  Neverbend,  continuing  his  subject  as  soon  as  they 
reached  the  Bristol  station,  "  but  on  the  whole  I  rather  think 
we  had  better  go  on  to  Tavistock  to-night." 

"  No,  I  will  not  stop  at  Plymouth,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  by 
Taunton  ;  and  on  reaching  Exeter  he  declared  that  he  had  fully 
made  up  his  mind  on  the  subject. 

"  We'll  get  a  chaise  at  Plymouth,"  said  Alaric. 

"  I  think  there  will  be  a  public  conveyance,"  said  Neverbend. 

"But  a  chaise  will  be  the  quickest,"  said  the  one. 

"And  much  the  dearest,"  said  the  other. 

"  That  won't  signify  much  to  us,"  said  Alaric ;  "  we  shan't 
pay  the  bill." 

"  It  will  signify  a  great  deal  to  me,"  said  Neverbend,  with 
a  look  of  ferocious  honesty  ;  and  so  they  reached  Plymouth. 


78  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

On  getting  out  of  the  railway  carriage,  Alaric  at  once  hired 
a  carriage  with  a  pair  of  horses ;  the  higgage  was  strapped  on, 
and  Mr.  Neverbend,  before  his  time  for  expostulation  had  fairly 
come,  found  himself  posting  down  the  road  to  Tavistock,  fol- 
lowed at  a  respectful  distance  by  two  coaches  and  an  omnibus. 

They  were  soon  drinking  tea  together  at  the  Bedford  Hotel, 
and  I  beg  to  assure  any  travelling  readers  that  they  might 
have  drunk  tea  in  a  much  worse  place.  Mr.  Neverbend,  though 
he  made  a  great  struggle  to  protect  his  dignity,  and  maintain 
the  superiority  of  his  higher  rank,  felt  the  ground  sinking 
from  beneath  his  feet  from  hour  to  hour.  He  could  not  at 
all  understand  how  it  was,  but  even  the  servants  at  the  hotel 
seemed  to  pay  more  deference  to  Tudor  than  to  him ;  and 
before  the  evening  was  over  he  absolutely  found  himself  drink- 
ing port  wine  negus,  because  his  colleague  had  ordered  it 
for  him. 

"  And  now,"  said  Neverbend,  who  was  tired  with  his  long- 
journey,  "  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed." 

"  Do,"  said  Alaric,  who  was  not  at  all  tired,  ''  and  I'll  go 
through  this  infernal  mass  of  papers.  I  have  hardly  looked  at 
them  yet.  Now  that  I  am  in  the  neighborhood  I  shall  better 
understand  the  strange  names." 

So  Alaric  went  to  work,  and  studied  the  dry  subject  that 
was  before  him.  It  will  luckily  not  be  necessary  for  us  to  do 
so  also.  It  will  be  sufficient  for  us  to  know  that  Wheal  Mary 
Jane  was  at  that  moment  the  richest  of  all  the  rich  mines  that 
had  then  been  opened  in  that  district ;  that  the,  or  its,  or  her 
shares  (which  is  the  proper  way  of  speaking  of  them  I  am 
shamefully  ignorant)  were  at  an  enormous  premium ;  that  these 
two  Commissioners  would  have  to  secxand  talk  to  some  scores 
of  loud  and  angry  men,  deeply  interested" in- their  success  or 
failure,  and  that  that  success  or  failure  might  probably  in  part 
depend  on  the  view  which  these  two  Commissioners  might 
take. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    HON.    UNDECIMUS    SCOTT. 

The  Hon.  Undecimus  Scott  was  the  eleventh  son  of  the 
Lord  Gaberlunzie.  Lord  Gaberlunzie  was  the  representative  of 
a  very  old  and  very  noble  race,  more  conspicuous,  however,  at 
the  present  time  for  its  age  and  nobility  than  for  its  wealth. 


THE   nON.    UNDECIMUS    SCOTT.  79 

The  Hon.  Undccimns,  therefore,  learnt,  on  arriving  at  manhood, 
that  he  was  heir  only  to  the  common  lot  of  mortality,  and  that 
he  had  to  earn  his  own  bread.  This,  however,  could  not  have 
surprised  him  much,  as  nine  of  his  brethren  had  previously 
found  themselves  in  the  same  condition. 

Lord  Gaberlunzie  certainly  was  not  one  of  those  wealthy  peers 
who  are  able  to  make  two  or  three  elder  sons,  and  after  that  to 
establish  any  others  that  may  come  with  comfortable  youngei' 
children's  portions.  The  family  was  somewhat  accustomed 
to  the  res  angusta  domi  ;  but  they  were  fully  alive  to  the  fact, 
that  a  noble  brood,  such  as  their  own,  ought  always  to  be 
able  to  achieve  comfort  and  splendor  in  the  world's  broad 
field,  by  due  use  of  those  privileges  which  spring  from  a  noble 
name.  Cauld-Kale  Castle,  in  Aberdeenshire,  was  the  family 
residence ;  but  few  of  the  eleven  young  Scotts  were  ever  to  be 
found  there  after  arriving  at  that  age  at  which  they  had  been 
able  to  fly  from  the  paternal  hall. 

It  is  a  terrible  task,  that  of  having  to  provide  for  eleven 
sons.  With  two  or  three  a  man  may  hope,  with  some  reason- 
able chance  of  seeing  his  hope  fulfilled,  that  things  will  go  well 
with  him,  and  that  he  may  descend  to  his  grave  without  that 
worst  of  wretchedness,  that  gnawing  grief  which  comes  from 
bad  children.  But  who  can  hope  that  eleven  sons  will  all  walk 
in  the  narrow  path  ? 

Had  Lord  Gaberlunzie,  however,  been  himself  a  patriarch, 
and  ruled  the  pastoral  plains  of  Palestine,  instead  of  the  bleak 
mountains  which  surround  Cauld-Kale  Castle,  he  could  not  have 
been  more  indiff'erent  as  to  the  number  of  his  sons.  They  flew 
away,  each  as  his  time  came,  with  the  early  confidence  of  youngs 
birds,  and  as  seldom  returned  to  disturb  the  family  nest. 

They  were  a  cannie,  comely,  sensible  brood.  Their  father 
and  mother,  if  they  gave  them  nothing  else,  gave  them  strong- 
bodies  and  sharp  brains.  They  were  very  like  each  other, 
though  always  with  a  difi'erence.  Red  hair,  bright  as  burnished 
gold ;  high,  but  not  very  high,  cheek  bones  ;  and  small,  sharp, 
twinkling  eyes,  were  the  Gaberlunzie  personal  characteristics. 
There  were  three  in  the  army,  two  in  the  navy,  and  one  at  a 
foreign  embassy ;  one  was  at  the  diggings,  another  was  chairman 
of  a  railway  company,  and  our  own  more  particular  friend,  CTndeci- 
mus,  was  picking  up  crumbs  about  the  world  in  a  manner  that 
satisfied  the  paternal  mind  that  he  was  quite  able  to  fly  alone. 

There  is  a  privilege  common  to  the  sons  of  all  noble  lords, 
the  full  value  of  which  the  young  Scotts  learnt  very  early  in 


80  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

life — that  of  making  any  woman  -witli  a  tocher  an  honorable 
lady.  "Ye  maun  be  a  puir  chiel,  gin  ye '11  be  worth  less  than 
ten  thoosand  pounds  in  the  market  o'  marriage  ;  and  ten 
thoosand  pound  is  a  gawcey  grand  heritage !  "  Such  had  been 
the  fatherly  precept  which  Lord  Gaberlunzie  had  striven  to  instil 
into  each  of  his  noble  sons ;  and  it  had  not  been  thrown  away 
upon  them.  One  after  the  other  they  had  gone  forth  into  the 
market-place  alluded  to,  and  had  sold  themselves  with  great 
ease  and  admirable  discretion.  There  had  been  but  one  Moses 
in  the  lot :  the  Hon.  Gordon  Hamilton  Scott  had  certainly 
brought  home  a  bundle  of  shagreen  spectacle  cases  in  the  guise 
of  a  widow  with  an  exceedingly  doubtful  jointure  ;  doubtful 
indeed  at  first,  but  very  soon  found  to  admit  of  no  doubt  what- 
ever. He  was  the  one  who,  with  true  Scotch  enterprise,  was 
prosecuting  his  fortunes  at  the  Bendigo  diggings,  while  his  wife 
consoled  herself  at  home  with  her  title. 

Undecimus,  with  filial  piety,  had  taken  his  father  exactly  at 
his  word,  and  swapped  himself  for  10,000Z.  He  had,  however, 
found  himself  imbued  with  much  too  high  an  ambition  to  rest 
content  with  the  income  arising  from  his  matrimonial  specula- 
tion. He  had  first  contrived  to  turn  his  real  10,000^.  into  a 
fabulous  50,000/.,  and  had  got  himself  returned  to  Parliament 
for  the  Tillietudlem  district  burghs  on  the  credit  of  his  great 
wealth;  he  then  set  himself  studiously  to  work  to  make  a 
second  market  by  placing  his  vote  at  the  disposal  of  the  Govern- 
ment. 

Nor  had  he  failed  of  success  in  his  attempt,  though  he  had 
hitherto  been  able  to  acquire  no  high  or  permanent  post.  He 
had  soon  been  appointed  private  secretary  to  the  First  Lord  of 
the  Stannaries,  and  he  found  that  his  duty  in  this  capacity 
required  him  to  assist  the  Government  whip  in  making  and 
keeping  houses.  This  occupation  was  congenial  to  his  spirit, 
and  he  worked  hard  and  well  at  it ;  but  the  greatest  of  men 
are  open  to  the  tainting  breath  of  suspicion,  and  the  Honorable 
Undecimus  Scott,  or  TJndy  Scott,  as  he  was  generally  now 
called,  did  not  escape.  Ill-natured  persons  whispered  that  he 
was  not  on  all  occasions  true  to  his  party ;  and  once  when  his 
master,  the  whip-in-chief,  overborne  with  too  much  work,  had 
been  tempted  to  put  himself  to  bed  comfortably  in  his  own 
house,  instead  of  on  his  usual  uneasy  couch  behind  the  Speak- 
er's chair,  Undy  had  greatly  failed.  The  leader  of  a  party 
whose  struggles  for  the  religion  of  his  country  had  hitherto 
met  but  small  success,  saw  at  a  glance  the  opportunity  which 


THE   HON.    UXDECIMUS    SCOTT.  81 

fortune  had  placed  in  his  way ;  he  spied  with  eagle  eye  the 
nakedness  of  that  land  of  promise  which  is  compressed  in  the 
district  round  the  Treasury  benches  ;  the  barren  field  before 
liim  was  all  his  own,  and  he  put  and  carried  his  motion  for 
closing  the  parks  on  Sundays. 

He  became  a  hero;  but  TJndy  was  all  but  undone.  The 
highest  hope  of  the  Sabbatarian  had  been  to  address  an  almost 
empty  house  for  an  hour  and  a  half  on  this  his  favorite  subject. 
But  the  chance  was  too  good  to  be  lost;  he  sacrificed  his 
oratorical  longings  on  the  altar  of  party  purpose,  and  limited 
his  speech  to  a  mere  statement  of  his  motion.  Off  flew  on  the 
wings  of  Hansom,  a  youthful  member,  more  trusty  than  the 
trusted  TJndy,  t»  the  abode  of  the  now  couchant  Ti-easury 
Argus.  Morpheus  had  claimed  him  all  for  his  own.  He  was 
lying  in  true  enjoyment,  with  his  tired  limbs  stretched  between 
the  unaccustomed  sheets,  and  snoring  with  free  and  sonorous 
nose,  restrained  by  the  contiguity  of  no  Speaker's  elbow.  But 
even  in  his  deepest  slumber  the  quick  wheels  of  the  bounding 
cab  struck  upon  the  tympanum  of  his  anxious  ear.  He  roused 
himself  as  does  a  noble  watch-dog  when  the  "  suspicious  tread 
of  theft"  approaches.  The  hurry  of  the  jaded  horse,  the  sudden 
stop,  the  maddened  furious  knock,  all  told  a  tale  which  his  well- 
trained  ear  only  knew  too  well.  He  sat  ujjUFor  a  moment, 
listening  in  his  bed,  stretched  himself  with  one  involuntary 
yawn,  and  then  stood  upright  on  the  floor.  It  should  not  at 
any  rate  be  boasted  by  any  one  that  he  had  been  found  in 
bed. 

With  elastic  step,  three  stairs  at  a  time,  up  rushed  that  young 
and  eager  member.  It  was  well  for  the  nerves  of  Mrs.  Whip 
Vigil  that  the  calls  of  society  still  held  her  bound  in  some  dis- 
tant brilliant  throng  ;  for  no  consideration  would  have  stopped 
the  patriotic  energy  of  that  sucking  statesman.  Mr.  Vigil  had 
already  performed  the  most  important  act  of  a  speedy  toilet, 
when  his  door  was  opened,  and  as  his  young  friend  appeared 
was  already  buttoning  his  first  brace. 

"  Pumpkin  is  up,"  said  the  eager  juvenile,  "  and  we  have  only 
five  men  in  the  house." 

"  And  where  the  devil  is  TJndy  Scott  ?"  said  the  Right  Hon. 
Mr.  Vigil. 

"  The  devil  only  knows,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  deserve  it  for  trusting  him,"  said  the  conscience-stricken 
but  worthy  public  servant.  By  this  time  he  had  on  his  neck- 
cloth and  boots;  in  his  eager  haste  to  serve  his  country  he  had 

4* 


82  THE  THEEE   CLEEKS. 

forgotten  his  stockings.  "  I  deserve  it  for  trusting  him — and 
how  many  men  have  they  ?" 

"  Forty-one  when  I  left." 

"  Then  they'll  divide  of  course  ?"  * 

"  Of  course  they  will,"  said  the  promising  young  dove  of  the 
Treasury. 

And  now  Mr.  Whip  Vigil  had  buttoned  on  that  well-made 
frock  with  which  the  Parliamentary  world  is  so  conversant,  and 
as  he  descended  the  stairs,  arranged  with  pocket-comb  his  now 
grizzling  locks.  His  well-brushed  hat  stood  ready  to  his  touch 
below,  and  when  he  entered  the  cab  he  was  apparently  as  well- 
dressed  a  gentleman  as  when  about  three  hours  after  noon  he 
may  be  seen  with  slow  and  easy  step  entering  the  halls  of  the 
Treasury  chambers. 

But  ah  !  alas,  he  was  all  too  late.  He  came  but  to  see  the 
ruin  which  TJndy's  defection  had  brought  about.  He  might 
have  taken  his  rest,  and  had  a  quiet  mind  till  the  next  morning's 
"  Times"  revealed  to  him  the  fact  of  Mr.  Pumpkin's  grand  suc- 
cess. When  he  arrived  the  numbers  were  being  taken,  and  he, 
even  he,  Mr.  Whip  Vigil,  he  the  great  arch-numberer,  was  ex- 
cluded from  the  number  of  the  counted.  When  the  doors  were 
again  open,  the  Commons  of  England  had  decided  by  a  majority 
of  41  to  1  tl^^  the  parks  of  London  .^htmLdi  one  ^^^1  ^^\  be 
closed  on  Sundays  ;  and  Mr.  Pumpkin  had  achieved" krnohg  his. 
own  set  a  week's  immortality. 

"  We  mustn't  have  this  again.  Vigil,"  said  a  very  great  man 
the  next  morning,  with  a  good-humored  smile  on  his  face,  how- 
ever, as  he  uttered  the  reprimand.  "  It  will  take  us  a  whole 
night,  and  God  knows  how  much  talking,  to  undo  what  those 
fools  did  yesterday." 

Mr.  Vigil  resolved  to  leave  nothing  again  to  the  unassisted 
industry  or  honesty  of  Undy  Scott,  and  consequently  that  gen- 
tleman's claims  on  his  party  did  not  stand  so  highly  as  they 
might  have  done  but  for  this  accident.  Parliament  was  soon 
afterwards  dissolved,  and  either  through  the  lukewarm  support 
of  his  Government  friends,  or  else  in  consequence  of  his  great 
fortune  having  been  found  to  be  ambiguous,  the  independent 
electors  of  the  Tillietudlem  burghs  took  it  into  their  heads  to 
unseat  Mr.  Scott.  Unseated  for  Tillietudlem,  he  had  no  means 
of  putting  himself  forward  elsewhere,  and  he  had  to  repent,  in 
the  sackcloth  and  ashes  of  private  life,  the  fault  which  had  cost 
him  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Vigil. 

His  life,  however,  was  not  strictly  private.     He  had  used  the 


TUE   HOiSr.    UNDECIMUS    SCOTT.  83 

Honorable  before  bis  name,  and  tbe  M.P.  which  for  a  time  had 
followed  after  it,  to  acquire  for  himself  a  seat  as  director  at  a 
bank  board.  lie  was  a  Vice-President  of  the  Caledonian,  En(y- 
lish,  Irish,  and  General  European  and  American  Fire  and  Lite 
Assurance  Society ;  such,  at  least,  had  been  the  name  of  the 
joint-stock  company  in  question  when  he  joined  it ;  but  he  had 
attained  much  credit  by  adding  the  word  "  Oriental,"  and  in- 
serting it  after  the  allusion  to  Europe  ;  he^itad-femd  hard  to  in- 
clude the  fourth  quarter  of  the  globe  ;  but,  as  he  explained  to  some 
of  his  friends,  it  would  have  made  the  name  too  cumbrous  for 
the  advertisements.  He  was  a  director  also  of  one  or  two  minor 
railways,  dabbled  in  mining  shares,  and,  altogether,  did  a  good 
deal  of  business  in  the  private  stockjobbing  line. 

In  spite  of  his  former  delinquencies,  his  political  friends  did 
not  altogether  throw  him  over.  In  the  first  place,  the  time 
might  come  when  he  would  be  again  useful,  and  then  he  had 
managed  to  acquire  that  air  and  tact  which  make  one  official 
man  agreeable  to  another.  He  was  always  good-humored  ; 
when  in  earnest,  there  was  a  dash  of  drollery  about  him ;  in  his 
most  comic  moods  he  ever  had  some  serious  purpose  in  view  ; 
he  thoroughly  understood  the  esoteric  and  exoteric  bearings  of  _ 
modern  politics,  and  knew  well  that  thoiigTfTie  "sEouTcI.  be  a 
model  of  purity  before  the  public,  it  did  not  behove  him  to  be 
very  strait-laced  w^ith  his  own  party.  He  took  everything 
in  good  part,  was  not  over-talkative,  over-pushing,  or  pre- 
sumptuous ;  he  felt  no  strong  bias  of  his  own  ;  had  at  his 
fingers'  ends  the  cant  phraseology  of  ministerial  subordinates, 
and  knew  how  to  make  himself  useful.  He  knew  also — a 
knowledge  much  more  difficult  to  acquire — how  to  live  among 
men  so  as  never  to  make  himself  disagreeable. 

But  then  he  could  not  be  trusted  !  True.  But  how  many 
men  in  his  walk  of  life  can  be  trusted  ?  And  those  who  can — 
at  how  terribly  high  a  price  do  they  rate  their  own  fidelity ! 
How  often  must  a  minister  be  forced  to  confess  to  himself  that 
he  cannot  afi"ord  to  employ  good  faith  !  Uhdy  Scott,  therefore, 
from  time  to  time,  received  some  ministerial  bone,  some  Civil 
Service  scrap  of  victuals  thrown  to  him  from  the  Government 
table,  which,  if  it  did  not  suffice  to  maintain  him  in  all  the 
comforts  of  a  Treasury  career,  still  preserved  for  him  a  con- 
nection with  the  Elysium  of  public  life  ;  gave  him,  as  it  were,  a 
link  by  which  he  could  hang  on  round  the  outer  corners  of  the 
State's  temple,  and  there  watch  with  advantage  till  the  doors  of 
Paradise  should  be  re-opened  to  him.    He  was  no  Lucifer,  who, 


84  TUE   TIIEEE    CLEKKS. 

having  wilfully  rebelled  against  the  high  majesty  of  Heaven, 
was  doomed  to  suffer  for  ever  in  unavailing,  but  still  proud 
misery,  the  penalties  of  his  asserted  independence ;  but  a  poor 
Peri,  who  had  made  a  lapse  and  thus  forfeited,  for  a  while, 
celestial  joys,  and  was  now  seeking  for  some  welcome  offering, 
striving  to  perform  some  useful  service,  by  which  he  might 
regain  his  lost  glory. 

The  last  of  the  good  things  thus  tendered  to  him  was  not  yet 
all  consumed.  When  Mr.  Hardlines,  now  Sir  Gregory,  was 
summoned  to  assist  at,  or  rather  preside  over,  the  delibera- 
tions of  the  committee  which  was  to  organise  a  system  of  exami- 
nation for  the  Civil  Service,  the  Hon  U.  Scott  had  been 
appointed  secretary  to  that  committee.  This,  to  be  sure, 
afforded-  but  a  fleeting  moment  of  halcyon  bliss ;  but  a  man 
like  Mr.  Scott  knew  how  to  prolong  such  a  moment  to  its 
utmost  stretch.  The  committee  had  ceased  to  sit,  and  the 
fruits  of  their  labor  were  already  apparent  in  the  establishment 
of  a  new  public  office,  presided  over  by  Sir  Gregory ;  but  still 
the  clever  Undy  continued  to  draw  his  salary. 

Undy  was  one  of  those  men  who,  though  married  and  the 
fathers  of  families,  are  always  seen  and  known  "  en-fjut^on?  No 
one  had  a  larger  circle  of  acquaintance  than  Undy  Scott ;  no 
one,  apparently,  a  smaller  circle  than  Mrs.  Undy  Scott.  So 
small,  indeed,  was  it,  that  its  locale  was  utterly  unknown  in  the 
fashionable  world.  At  the  time  of  which  we  are  now  speaking 
Undy  was  the  happy  possessor  of  a  bedroom  in  Waterloo 
Place,  and  rejoiced  in  all  the  comforts  of  a  first-rate  club.  But 
the  sacred  spot,  in  which  at  few  and  happy  intervals  he  received 
the  caresses  of  the  wife  of  his  bosom  and  the  children  of  his 
loins,  is  unknown  to  the  author. 

In  age,  Mr.  Scott,  at  the  time  of  the  Tavistock  mining 
inquiry,  was  about  thirty-five.  Having  sat  in  Parliament  for 
five  years,  he  had  now  been  out  for  four,  and  was  anxiously 
looking  for  the  day  when  the  universal  scramble  of  a  general 
election  might  give  him  another  chance.  In  person  he  was,  as 
we  have  said,  stalwart  and  comely,  hirsute  with  copious  red 
locks,  not  only  over  his  head  but  under  his  chin  and  round  his 
mouth.  He  was  well  made,  six  feet  high,  neither  fat  nor  thin, 
and  he  looked  like  a  gentleman.  He  was  careful  in  his  dress, 
but  not  so  as  to  betray  the  care  that  he  took  ;  he  was  impertur- 
bable in  tamper,  though  restless  in  spirit ;  and  the  one  strong 
passion  of  his  life  was  the  desire  of  a  good  income  at  the  cost 
of  th.e  public. 


THE    IIOX.    UXDECIMUS   SCOTT.  86 

He  liad  an  easy  way  of  getting  intimate  with  young  men 
when  it  suited  him,  and  as  easy  a  way  of  dropping  them  after- 
wards when  that  suited  him.  He  had  no  idea  of  wasting  his 
time  or  opportunities  in  friendships.  Not  that  he  was  indiffer- 
ent as  to  his  companions,  or  did  not  appreciate  the  pleasure  of 
living  with  pleasant  men ;  but  that  life  was  too  short,  and  with 
him  the  race  too  much  up  hill,  to  allow  of  his  indulging  in  such 
luxuries.  He  looked  on  friendship  as  one  of  those  costly 
delights  with  which  none  but  the  rich  should  presume  to  gra- 
tify themselves.  He  could  not  afford  to  associate  with  his  fel- 
low-men on  any  other  terms  than  those  of  making  capital  of 
them.  It  was  not  for  him  to  walk  and  talk  and  eat  and  drink 
with  a  man  because  he  liked  him.  How  could  the  eleventh  son 
of  a  needy  Scotch  peer,  who  had  to  maintain  his  rank  and  posi- 
tion by  the  iorce^his  own  wit,  how  could  such  a  one  live,  if  he 
did  not  turn  to  some  profit  even  the  convivialities  of  existence? 

Acting  in  accordance  with  his  fixed  and  conscientious  rule 
in  this  respect,  Undy  Scott  had  struck  up  an  acquaintance  with 
Alaric  Tudor.  He  saw  that  Alaric  was  no  ordinary  clerk,  that 
Sir  Gregory  was  likely  to  have  the  Civil  Service  under  his 
thumb,  and  that  Alaric  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  great  man. 
It  would  but  little  have  availed  Undy  to  have  striven  to  be 
intimate  with  Sir  Gregory  himself.  The  Knight  Commander 
of  the  Bath  would  have  been  deaf  to  his  blandishments;  but  it 
seemed  probable  that  the  ears  of  Alaric  might  be  tickled. 

And  thus  Alaric  and  Undy  Scott  had  become  fast  friends ; 
that  is,  as  fast  as  such  friends  generally  are.  Alaric  was  no 
more  blind  to  his  own  interest  than  was  his  new  ally.  But 
there  was  this  difference  between  them  ;  Undy  lived  altogether 
in  the  utilitarian  world  which  he  had  formed  around  himself, 
whereas  Alaric  lived  in  two  worlds.  When  with  Undy  his 
pursuits  and  motives  were  much  such  as  those  of  Undy  himself; 
but  at  Surbiton  Cottage,  and  with  Harry  Norman,  he  was  still 
susceptible  of  a  higher  feeling.  He  had  been  very  cold  to  poor 
Linda  on  his  last  visit  to  Hampton ;  but  it  was  not  that  his 
heart  was  too  hard  for  love.  He  had  begun  to  discern  that 
Gertrude  would  never  attach  herself  to  Norman  ;  and  if  Gertrude 
were  free,  why  should  she  not  be  his  ? 

Poor  Linda ! 

Scott  had  early  heard — and  of  what  official  event  did  he  not 
obtain  early  intelligence  ? — that  Neverbend  was  to  go  down  to 
Tavistock  about  the  Mary  Jane  tin  mine,  and  that  a  smart  col- 
league, was  required  for  him.     He  would  fain,  for  reasons  of  his 


86  THE  THKEE   CLERKS. 

own,  have  been  tliat  smart  colleague  himself;  but  that  he  knew 
was  impossible.  He  and  Neverbend  were  the  Alpha  and  Omega 
of  official  virtues  and  vices.  But  he  took  an  opportunity  of 
mentioning  before  Sir  Gregory,  in  a  passing  unpremeditated 
way,  how  excellently  adapted  Tudor  was  for  the  work.  It  so 
turned  out  that  his  effort  was  successful,  and  that  Tudor  was 
sent. 

The  whole  of  their  first  day  at  Tavistock  was  passed  by 
Neverbend  and  Alaric  in  hearing  interminable  statements  from 
the  various  mining  combatants,  and  when  at  seven  o'clock 
Alaric  shut  up  for  the  evening  he  was  heartily  sick  of  the  job. 
The  next  morning  before  breakfast  he  sauntered  out  to  air  him- 
self in  front  of  the  hotel,  and  who  should  come  whistling  up 
the  street,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  but  his  new  friend  IJndy 
Scott. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

MR.    MANYLOUES. 


Alaric  Tudor  was  very  much  surprised.  Had  he  seen  Sir 
Gregory  himself,  or  Captain  Cuttwater,  walking  up  the  street 
of  Tavistock,  he  could  not  have  been  more  startled.  It  first 
occurred  to  him  that  Scott  must  have  been  sent  down  as  a  third 
Commissioner  to  assist  at  the  investigation ;  and  he  would  have 
been  right  glad  to  have  known  that  this  was  the  case,  for  he 
found  that  the  management  of  Mr.  Neverbend  was  no  pastime. 
But  he  soon  learned  that  such  relief  was  not  at  hand  for  him. 

"  Well,  Tudor,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  and  how  do  you  like  the 
clotted  cream  and  the  thick  ankles  of  the  stout  Devonshire 
lasses  ?" 

"I  have  neither  tasted  the  one,  nor  seen  the  other,"  said 
Alaric.  "  As  yet  I  have  encountered  nothing  but  the  not  very 
civil  tongues,  and  not  very  clear  brains  of  Cornish  roughs." 

"  A  Boeotian  crew !  but,  nevertheless,  they  know  on  which 
side  their  bread  is  buttered — and  in  general  it  goes  hard  with 
them  but  they  butter  it  on  both  sides.  And  how  does  the 
faithful  Neverbend  conduct  himself?  Talk  of  Boeotians,  if  any 
man  ever  was  born  in  a  foggy  air,  it  must  have  been  mv  friend 
Fidus." 

Alaric  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughed  slightly. 
"  But  what  on  earth  brings  you  down  to  Tavistock  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  a  denizen  of  the  place,  naturalized,  and  all  but 


MR.    MANYLODES.  8V 

settled ;  have  vast  interests  here,  and  a  fiitnre  constituency. 
Let  the  Russells  look  well  to  themselves..  The  time  is  quickly 
coming  when  you  will  address  me  in  the  House  with  bitter 
sarcasm  as  the  honorable  but  inconsistent  member  for  Tavis- 
tock ;  eo;ad,  who  knows  but  you  may  hav-e  to  say  the  Right 
Honourable  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  did  not  know  the  wind  blew  in  that  quarter,"  said 
Alaric,  not  ill-pleased  at  the  suggestion  that  he  also,  on  some 
future  day,  might  have  a  seat  among  the  faithful  Commons. 

*'  The  wind  blows  from  all  quarters  with  me,"  said  Undy ; 
"but  in  the  mean  time  I  am  looking  out  for  shares." 

"  Will  you  come  in  and  breakfast  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"  What,  with  friend  Fidus  ?  no,  thank'ee ;  I  am  not,  by  many 
deoTces,  honest  enouo-h  to  suit  his  book.  He  would  be  down 
on  some  little  public  peccadillo  of  mine  before  I  had  swallowed 
my  first  egg.  Besides,  I  would  not  for  worlds  ■  break  the 
pleasure  of  your  tete-a-tete.''^ 

"  Will  you  come  down  after  dinner  ?" 

"  No ;  neither  after  dinner,  nor  before  breakfast ;  not  all  the 
coffee,  nor  all  the  claret  of  the  Bedford  shall  tempt  me.  Re- 
member, my  friend,  you  are  paid  for  it ;  I  am  not." 

"Well,  then,  good  morning,"  said  Alaric.  "I  must  go  in 
and  face  my  fate,  like  a  Briton." 

Undy  went  on  for  a  few  steps,  and  then  returned,  as  though 
a  sudden  thought  had  struck  him.  "  But,  Tudor,  I  have  bowels 
of  compassion  within  me,  though  no  pluck.  I  am  willing  to 
rescue  you  from  your  misery,  though  I  will  not  partake  it. 
Come  up  to  me  this  evening,  and  I  will  give  you  a  glass  of 
brandy-punch.  Your  true  miners  never  drink  less  generous 
tipple." 

"  How  on  earth  am  I  to  shake  off  this  incubus  of  the  Woods 
and  Works?" 

"  Shake  him  off?  Why,  make  him  drunk  and  put  him  to 
bed  ;  or  tell  him  at  once  that  the  natural  iniquity  of  your  dis- 
position makes  it  necessary  that  you  should  spend  a  few  hours 
of  the  day  in  the  company  of  a  sinner  like  myself.  Tell  him 
that  his  virtue  is  too  heavy  for  the  digestive  organs  of  your 
unpractised  stomach.  Tell  him  what  you  will,  but  come.  I 
myself  am  getting  sick  of  those  mining  Vandals,  though  I  am 
so  used  to  dealing  with  them." 

Alaric  promised  that  he  would  come,  and  then  went  in  to 
breakfast.  Undy  also  returned  to  his  breakfast,  well  pleased 
with  this  first  success  in  the  little  scheme  which  at  present 


88  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

occupied  his  mind.  The  innocent  young  Commissioner  little 
dreamt  that  the  Hoporable  Mr.  Scott  had  come  all  the  way 
to  Tavistock  on  purpose  to  ask  him  to  drink  brandy-punch  at 
the  Blue  Dragon  ! 

Another  day  went  wearily  and  slowly  on  with  Alaric  and 
Mr.  Neverbend.  Tedious,  never-ending  statements  had  to  be 
taken  down  in  writing ;  the  same  things  were  repeated  over 
and  over  again,  and  were  as  often  contradicted ;  men  who 
might  have  said  in  five  words  all  that  they  had  to  say,  would 
not  be  constrained  to  say  it  in  less  than  five  thousand,  and  each 
one  seemed  to  think,  or  pretended  to  seem  to  think,  that  all  the 
outer  world  and  the  Government  were  leagued  together  to  de- 
fraud the  interest  to  which  he  himself  was  specially  attached. 
But  this  was  not  the  worst  of  it.  There  were  points  which 
were  as  clear  as  daylight ;  but  Tudor  could  not  declare  them  to 
be  so,  as  by  doing  so  he  was  sure  to  elicit  a  difi'erent  opinion 
from  Mr.  Neverbend. 

"  I  am  not  quite  so  clear  on  that  point,  Mr.  Tudor,"  he  would 
say. 

Alaric,  till  experience  made  him  wise,  would  attempt  to 
argue  it. 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  but  I  am  not  quite  so  sure  of  it.  We 
will  reserve  the  point,  if  you  please,"  and  so  afi'airs  went  on 
darkly,  no  ray  of  light  being  permitted  to  shine  in  on  the  mat- 
ter in  dispute. 

It  was  settled,  however,  before  dinner,  that  they  should  both 
go  down  the  Wheal  Mary  Jane  on  the  following  day.  Never- 
bend had  done  what  he  could  to  keep  this  crowning  honor  of 
the  inquiry  altogether  in  his  own  hands,  but  he  had  found  that 
in  this  respect  Tudor  was  much  too  much  for  him. 

Immediately  after  dinner  Alaric  announced  that  he  was  going 
to  spend  the  evening  with  a  friend. 

"  A  friend  !"  said  Neverbend,  somewhat  startled  ;  "  I  did  not 
know  that  you  had  any  friends  in  Tavistock." 

"  Not  a  great  many ;  but  it  so  happened  that  I  did  meet  a 
man  I  know,  this  morning,  and  promised  to  go  to  him  in  the 
evening.     I  hope  you'll  excuse  my  leaving  you  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  don't  mind  for  myself,"  said  Neverbfend,  "  though, 
when  men  are  together,  it's  as  well  for  them  to  keep  together. 
But,  Mr.  Tudor " 

"  Well  ?"  said  Alaric,  who  felt  growing  within  him  a  deter- 
mination to  put  down  at  once  anything  like  interference  with  his 
private  hours. 


ME.    MANYLODES.  89 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  mention  it,"  said  Neverbend,  "  Lut 
I  do  hope  you'll  not  get  among_mining  people.  Only  think 
what  our  position  here  is.^^~~~'~ 

*'  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Alaric.  "  Do  you 
think  I  shall  be  bribed  over  by  either  side  because  I  choose  to 
drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  a  friend  at  another  hotel  ?" 

"  Bribed  !  No,  I  don't  think  you'll  be  bribed ;  but  I  think  we 
should  both  keep  ourselves  absolutely  free  from  all  chance  of 
being  talked  to  on  the  subject,  except  before  each  other  and 
before  witnesses.  I  would  not  drink  brandy-and- water  at  the 
Blue  Dragon,  before  this  report  be  written,  even  if  my  brother 
were  there." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Neverbend,  I  am  not  so  much  afraid  of  myself. 
But  wherever  there  are  two  men,  there  will  be  two  opinions. 
So  good  night,  if  it  so  chance  that  you  are  in  bed  before  my 
return." 

So  Tudor  went  out,  and  Neverbend  prepared  himself  to  sit 
up  for  him.  He  would  sooner  have  remained  up  all  night  than 
have  gone  to  bed  before  his  colleague  came  back. 

Three  days  Alaric  Tudor  had  now  passed  with  Mr.  Never- 
bend, and  not  only  three  days  but  three  evenings  also !  A  man 
may  endure  to  be  bored  in  the  course  of  business  through  the 
day,  but  it  becomes  dreadful  when  the  infliction  is  extended  to 
post-prandial  hours.  It  does  not  often  occur  that  one  is  doomed 
to  bear  the  same  bore  both  by  day  and  night ;  any  change  gives 
some  ease  ;  but  poor  Alaric  for  three  days  had  no  change.  He 
felt  like  a  liberated  convict  as  he  stepped  freely  forth  into  the 
sweet  evening  air,  and  made  his  way  through  the  town  to  the 
opposition  inn. 

Here  he  found  Undy  on  the  door-steps  with  a  cigar  in  his 
mouth.  "  Here  I  am,  waiting  for  you,"  said  he.  "  You  are 
fagged  to  death  I  know,  and  we'll  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air 
before  we  go  up  stairs," — and  so  saying  he  put  his  arm  through 
Alaric's,  and  they  strolled  off  through  the  suburbs  of  the 
town. 

"  You  don't  smoke,"  said  TJndy,  with  his  cigar-case  in  his 
hand.  "  Well — I  believe  you  are  right — cigars  cost  a  great 
deal  of  money,  and  can't  well  do  a  man  any  real  good.  God 
Almighty  could  never  have  intended  us  to  make  chimneys  of 
our  mouths  and  noses.     Does  Fidus  ever  indulge  in  a  weed  ?" 

"  He  never  indulges  in  anything,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Except  honesty,"  said  the  other,  "  and  in  that  he  is  a  beastly 
glutton.     He  gorges  himself  with   it  till  all   his  faculties  are 


90  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

overpowered  and  his  mind  becomes  torpid.  It's  twice  worse 
than  drinking.  I  wonder  whether  he'll  do  a  bit  of  speculation 
before  he  goes  back  to  town." 

"  Who,  Neverbend  ? — he  never  speculates  !" 

"  Why  not  ?  Ah,  my  fine  fellow,  you  don't  know  the  world 
yet.  Those  sort  of  men,  dull  drones  like  Neverbend,  are  just 
the  fellows  who  go  the  deepest.  I'll  be  bound  he  will  not 
return  without  a  few  Mary  Janes  in  his  pocket-book.  He'll  be 
a  fool  if  he-do^S;^  IJinow." 

"  Why,  that's  the  Very  mine  we  are  down  here  about." 

"  And  that's  the  very  reason  why  he'll  purchase  Mary  Janes. 
He  has  an  opportunity  of  knowing  their  value.  Oh,  let  Never- 
bend ^lone.     He  is  not  so  young  as  you  are,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Young  or  old,  I  think  you  mistake  his  character." 

"  Why,  Tudor,  what  would  you  think  now  if  he  not  only 
bouo-ht  for  himself,  but  was  commissioned  to  buy  by  the  very 
men  who  sent  him  down  here  ?" 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  make  me  believe  it." 

"  Ah !  faith  is  a  beautiful  thing ;  what  a  pity  that  it  never 
survives  the  thirtieth  year  ; — except  with  women  and  fools." 

"  And  have  you  no  faith,  Scott  ?" 
I  u  Yes — much  in  myself — some  little  in  Lord  Palm erston,  that 
I  is,-4a  his  luck  ;  and  a  good  deal  in  a  bank-note.  But  I  have 
\  none  at  all  in  Fidus  Neverbend.  What !  have  faith  in  a  man 
/  merely  because  he  tells  me  to  have  it !  His  method  of  obtaining 
/  it  is  far  too  easy." 

"  I  trust  neither  his  wit  nor  his  judgment ;  but  I  don't  believe 
him  to  be  a  thief." 

"  Thief !  I  said  nothing  of  thieves.  He  may,  for  aught  I 
know,  be  just  as  good  as  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  all  I  say  is, 
that  I  believe  him  to  be  no  better.  But  come,  we  must  go  back 
to  the  inn ;  there  is  an  ally  of  mine  coming  to  me,  a  perfect 
specimen  of  a  sharp  Cornish  mining  stockjobber — as  vulgar  a 
fellow  as  you  ever  met,  and  as  shrewd.  He  wont  stay  very  long, 
so  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  him." 

Alaric  began  to  feel  uneasy,  and  to  think  that  there  might  by 
possibility  be  something  in  what  Neverbend  had  said  to  him. 
He  did  not  like  the  idea  of  meeting  a  Cornish  stockjobber  in  a 
familiar  way  over  his  brandy-punch,  while  engaged,  as  he  now  was, 
on  the  part  of  Government ;  he  felt  that  there  might  be  impro- 
priety in  it,  and  he  would  have  been  glad  to  get  off  if  he  could. 
But  he  felt  ashamed  to  break  his  engagement,  and  thus  followed 
Undv  into  the  hotel. 


ME.    MANYLODES.  91 

"  Has  Mr.  Manylodes  been  licrc  ?"  said  Scott,  as  he  walked 
up  stairs. 

"  He's  in  the  bar  now,  sir,"  said  the  waiter. 

"  Beg  him  to  come  up  then.  In  the  bar  !  why,  that  man 
must  have  a  bar  within  himself — the  alcohol  he  consumes  every 
day  would  be  a  tidy  sale  for  a  small  public-house."- 

Up  they  went,  and  Mr.  Manylodes  was  not  long  in  following 
them.  He  was  a  small  man,  more  like  an  American  in  appear- 
ance than  an  Englishman.  He  had  on  a  common  black  hat,  a 
black  coat,  black  waistcoat,  and  black  trousers,  thick  boots,  a 
colored  shirt,  and  very  dirty  hands.  Though  every  article  he 
wore  w^as  good,  and  most  of  them  such  as  gentlemen  wear,  no 
man  alive  could  have  mistaken  him  for  a  gentleman.  No  man, 
conversant  with  the  species  to  which  he  belonged,  could  have 
taken  him  for  anything  but  what  he  was.  As  he  entered  the 
room,  a  faint,  sickly,  second-hand  smell  of  alcohol  pervaded  the 
atmosphere. 

"  AVell,  Manylodes,"  said  Scott,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again. 
This  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Tudor." 

"Your  servant,  sir,"  said  Manylodes,  just  touching  his  hat, 
without  moving  it  from  his  head.  "  And  how  are  you,  Mr. 
Scott  ?     I  am  glad  to  see  you  again  in  these  parts,  sir." 

"  And  how's  trade  ?  Come,  Tudor,  what  will  you  drink  ? 
Manylodes,  I  know,  takes  brandy ;  their  sherry  is  vile,  and  their 
claret  worse  ;  maybe  they  may  have  a  fairish  glass  of  port. 
And  how  is  trade,  Manylodes  ?" 

"  We're  all  as  brisk  as  bees  at  pfesent.  I  never  knew  things 
sharper.  If  you've  brought  a  little  money  with  you,  now's 
your  time.  But  I  tell  yon  this,  you'll  find  it  sharp  work  for  the 
eyesight." 

"  Quick  s  the  word,  I  suppose." 

"  Lord  love  you  !  Quick  !  Why  a  fellow  must  shave  him- 
self before  he  goes  to  bed  if  he  wants  to  be  up  in  time  these 
days." 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Lord  love  you !  why  there  was  old  Sam  Weazle ;  never 
caught  napping  yet — why  at  Truro,  last  Monday,  he  bought  up 
to  450  New  Friendships,  and  before  he  was  abed  they  wern't 
worth  not  this  bottle  of  brandy.  Well,  old  Sam  was  just  bit 
by  those  Cambourne  lads." 

"  And  how  did  that  happen  ?" 

"Why,  the  New  Friendships  certainly  was  very  good  while 
they  lasted  ;  just  for  three  months  thej^  was  the  thing  certainly. 


92  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

Why,  it  came  up,  sir,  as  if  there  wern't  no  end  of  it,  and 
just  as  clean  as  that  half-crown — but  I  know'd  there  was  an 
end  coming." 

"  Water,  I  suppose,"  said  Undy,  sipping  his  toddy. 

"  Them  clean  takes,  Mr.  Scott,  they  never  lasts.  There  was 
water,  but  that  weren't  the  worst.  Old  Weazle  knew  of  that ; 
he  calculated  he'd  back  the  metal  agin  the  water,  and  so  he 
bought  up  all  he  could  lay  his  finger  on.  But  the  stuff  was 
run  out.  Them  Cambourne  boys — what  did  they  do  ?  Why, 
they  let  the  water  in  on  purpose.  By  Monday  night  old  Weazle 
knew  it  all,  and  then  you  may  say  it  was  as  good  as  a  play." 

"  And  how  did  you  do  in  the  matter  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  sold.  I  did  very  well — bought  at  11.  2s.  3d.,  and 
sold  61.  195.  lO^d.,  and  got  my  seven  per  cent,  for  the  four 
months.  But,  Lord  love  you,  them  clean  takes  never  lasts.  I 
worn't  going    to   hang  on.      Here's  your    health,   Mr.   Scott. 

Yours,  Mr.  ,  I  didn't  just  catch  the  gen'leman's  name ;" 

and  without  waiting  for  further  information  on  the  point,  he 
finished  his  brandy-and-water. 

"  So  it's  all  up  with  the  New  Friendships,  is  it  ?"  said  Undy. 
.  "Up  and  down,  Mr.  Scott;  every  dog  has  his  day;  these 
jMary  Janes  will  be  going  the  same  way  some  of  them  days. 
IWe're  all  mortal ;"  and  with  this  moral  comparison  between  the 
uncertainty  of  human  life  and  the  vicissitudes  of  the  shares  in 
Tvhich  he  trafficked,  Mr.  Manylodes  proceeded  to  put  some 
more  sugar  and  brandy  into  his  tumbler. 

"  True,  true — we  are  all  mortal — Manylodes  and  Mary  Janes ; 
old  friendships  and  New  Friendships;  w^hile  they  last  we  must 
make  the  most  we  can  of  them ;  buy  them  £ke^,jind  sell  them 
dear ;  and  above  all  things  get  a  good  per-centage." 

"  That's  the  game,  Mr.  Scott ;  and  I  will  say  no  man  under- 
stands it  better  than  yourself — keep  the  ball  a  running — that's 
your  maxim.  Are  you  going  it  deep  in  Mary  Jane,  Mr. 
Scott?" 

"Who?  I!  O  no — she's  a  cut  above  me  now,  I  fear.  The 
shares  are  worth  any  money  now,  I  suppose?" 

"Worth   any  money!     I  think  they  are,  Mr.  Scott,  but  I 

believe "  and  then  bringing  his  chair  close  up  to  that  of  his 

aristocratic  friend,  resting  his  hands,  one  on  Mr.  Scott's  knee, 
and  the  other  on  his  elbow,  and  breathing  brandy  into  his  ear, 
he  whispered  words  to  him  of  great  significance. 

"  I'll  leave  you,  Scott,"  said  Alaric,  who  did  not  enjoy  the 
society  of  Mr.  Manylodes,  and  to  whom  the  nature  of  the  con- 


MK.    MxVNYLODES.  93 

versation  was,  in  liis  present  positiori,  extremely  irksome ;  "  I 
must  be  back  at  the  Bedford  early." 

"  Early — why  early?  surely  our  honest  friend  can  get  himself 
to  bed  without  your  interference.  Come,  you  don't  like  the 
brandy  toddy,  nor  I  either.  We'll  see  what  sort  of  a  hand  they 
are  at  making  a  bowl  of  bishop." 

"  Not  for  me,  Scott." 

"  Yes,  for  you,  man ;  surely  you  are  not  tied  to  that  fellow's 
apron-strings,"  he  said,  removing  himself  from  the  close  con- 
tiguity of  Mr.  Manylodes,  and  speaking  under  his  voice ;  "  take 
my  advice ;  if  you  once  let  that  man  think  you  fear  him,  you'll 
never  get  the  better  of  him." 

Alaric  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  and  stayed. 

"  I  have  just  ten  words  of  business  to  say  to  this  fellow,"  con- 
tinued Scott,  "  and  then  we  will  be  alone." 

It  was  a  lovely  autumn  evening,  early  in  September,  and 
Alaric  sat  himself  at  an  open  windoAv,  looking  out  from  the  back 
of  the  hotel  on  to  the  Brentor,  with  its  singular  parish  church, 
built  on  its  highest  apex,  while  Undy  held  deep  council  with 
his  friend  of  the  mines.  But  from  time  to  time,  some  word 
of  moment  found  its  way  to  Alaric's  ears,  and  made  him 
also  unconsciously  fix  his  mind  on  the  irritamenta  malorum, 
which  are  dug  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth  in  those  western 
regions. 

"  Minting  money,  sir ;  it's  just  minting  money.  There's  been 
no  chance  like  it  in  my  days.  4Z.  125.  6g?.,  paid  up ;  and  they'll 
be  at  25^.  in  Truro  before  sun  sets  on  Saturday.    Lord  love  you, 

Mr.  Scott,  now's  your  time.     If,  as  I  hear,  they "  and  then 

there  was  a  very  low  whisper,  and  Alaric,  who  could  not  keep 
his  eye  altogether  from  Mr.  Manylodes'  countenance,  saw  plainly 
that  that  worthy  gentleman  was  talking  of  himself;  and  in  spite 
of  his  better  instincts,  a  desire  came  over  him  to  know  more 
of  what  they  were  discussing,  and  he  could  not  keep  from 
thinking  that  shares  bought  at  U.  125.  6 J.,  and  realising  25/., 
must'  be  very  nice  property. 

"  Well,  I'll  manage  it,"  said  Scott,  still  in  a  sort  of  whisper, 
but  audibly  enough  for  Alaric  to  hear.  "  Forty,  you  say  ?  I  '11 
take  them  at  51.  Is.  Id. — very  well ;"  and  he  took  out  his  pocket- 
book  and  made  a  memorandum.  "Come,  Tudor,  here's  the 
bishop.  We  have  done  our  business,  so  now  we'll  enjoy  our- 
selves.    What,  Manylodes,  are  you  off?" 

"  Lord  love  you,  Mr.  Scott,  I  've  a  deal  to  do  before  I  get  to 
my  downy  ;  and  I  don 't  like  those  doctored  tipples.     Good  night, 


94  THE   THEEE    CLEKKS. 

Mr.  Scott.  I  wishes  you  good  niglit,  sir  ;"  and  making  another 
slight  reference  to  his  hat,  which  had  not  been  removed  from 
his  head  during  the  whole  interview,  Mr.  Manvlodes  took  him- 
self off. 

"  There,  now,  is  a  specimen  of  a  species  of  the  genus  homo^ 
class  Englishman,  w^hich  is,  I  believe,  known  nowhere  but  in 
Cornwall" 

"  Cornwall  and  Devonshire,  I  suppose,"  said  Alaric. 

"  No  ;  he  is  out  of  his  true  element  here.  If  you  want  to  see 
him  in  all  the  glory  of  his  native  county,  you  should  go  west  of 
Truro.  From  Truro  to  Hayle  is  the  land  of  the  Manylodes. 
And  a  singular  species  it  is.  But,  Tudor,  you  '11  be  surprised,  I 
suppose,  if  I  tell  you  that  I  have  made  a  purchase  for  you." 

"  A  purchase  for  me  !" 

"  Yes ;  I  could  not  very  w^ell  consult  you  before  that  fellow, 
and  yet  as  the  chance  came  in  my  w^ay,  I  did  not  like  to  lose  it. 
Come,  the  bishop  ain  't  so  bad,  is  it,  though  it  is  doctored  tipple  ?" 
and  he  refilled  Alaric's  glass. 

"  But  what  have  you  purchased  for  me,  Scott  ?" 

"  Forty  shares  in  the  Mary  Jane." 

"  Then  you  m_ay_undo  the  bargain  again,  for  I  don 't  want 
them,  and~shaTrnot  take  them." 

"  You  need  not  be  a  bit  uneasy,  my  dear  fellow.  I  've  bought 
them  at  a  little  over  bl.,  and  they'll  be  saleable  to-morrow 
at  double  the  money — or  at  any  rate  to-morrow  week.  But 
what's  your  objection  to  them?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  've  got  no  money  to  buy  shares." 

"That's  just  the  reason  why  you  should  buy  them;  having 
no  money,  you  can  't  but  want  some ;  and  here 's  your  way  to 
make  it.     You  can  have  no  difficulty  in  raising  200L" 

"  And  in  the  next  place,  I  should  not  think  of  buying  mining- 
shares,  and  more  especially  these,  while  I  am  engaged  as  I  now 
am." 

"  Fal  de  ral,  de  ral,  de  ral  !  That 's  all  very  fine,  Mr.  Com- 
missioner ;  only  you  mistake  your  man  ;  you  think  you  are 
talking  to  Mr.  Neverbend." 

"  Well,  Scott,  I  shan't  have  them." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  my  dear  fellow ;  there's  no  compulsion. 

Only  mark  this ;  the  ball  is  at   your  foot  now,  but  it  won  't 

remain  there.     'There  is   a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men,' — you 

,   know  the  rest;  and  you  know  also  that  'tide  and  time  wait  for 

^,  no  man.'     If  you  are  contented  with  your  two  or  three  hundred 

va-year  in  the  Weights  and  Measures,  God  forbid  that  I  should 


MK.    MANYLODES.  95 

tempt  you  to  higher  thoughts — only  in  tlia^  case  I  have  mistaken 
my  man." 

"  I  must  be  contented  with  it,  if  I  can  get  nothing  better," 
said  Tudor,  weakly. 

"  Exactly  ;■  you  must  be  contented — or  rather  you  must  put 
up  with  it — if  yon  can  get  nothing  better.  That's  the  meaning 
of  contentment  all  the  world  over.  You  argue  in  a  circle.  You 
must  be  a  mere  clerk  if  you  cannot  do  better  than  other  mere 
clerks.  But  the  fact  of  your  having  such  an  offer  as  that  I  now 
make  you,  is  proof  that  you  can  do  better  than  others ;  proves, 
in  fact,  that  you  need  not  be  a  mere  clerk,  unless  you  choose  to 
remain  so." 

"  Buying  these  shares  might  lose  me  all  that  I  have  got,  and 
could  not  do  more  than  put  a  hundred  pounds  or  so  in  my  pocket." 

"  Gammon " 

"  Could  I  go  back  and  tell  Sir  Gregory  openly  that  I  had 
bought  them?" 

"  Why,  Tudor,  you  are  the  youngest  fish  I  ever  met,  sent  out 
to  swim  alone  in  this  wicked  world  of  ours.  Who  the  deuce 
talks  openly  of  his  speculations  ?  Will  Sir  Gregory  tell^j^u 
what  shares  he  buys  ?  Is  not  every  member  of  the  House,  every 
man  in  the  Government,  every  barrister,  parson,  and  doctor,  that 
can  collect  a  hundred  pounds,  are  not  all  of  them  at  the  w^ork  ? 
And  do  they  talk  openly  of  the  matter  ?  Does  the  bishop  put  it  / 
into  his  charge,  or  the  parson  into  his  sermon  ?" 

"  But  they  would  not  be  ashamed  to  tell  their  friends." 

"  Would  not  they  ?  Oh  !  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pickabit,  of  St.  Judas 
Without,  would  not  be  ashamed  to  tell  his  bishop  !  But  the 
long  and  the  short  of  the  thing  is  this;  most  men  circum- 
stanced as  you  are  have  no  chance  of  doing  anything  good  till 
they  are  forty  or  fifty,  and  then  their  energies  are  worn  out. 
You  have  had  tact  enough  to  push  yourself  up  early,  and  yet  it 
seems  you  have  not  pluck  enough  to  take  the  goods  the  gods 
provide  you." 

"  The  gods ! — you  mean  the  devils  rather,"  said  Alaric,  who 
sat  listening  and  drinking,  almost  unconsciously,  his  doctored 
tipple. 

"  Call  them  what  you  will  for  me.  Fortune  has  generally 
been  esteemed  a  goddess,  but  misfortune  a  very  devil.  But, 
Tudor,  you  don't  know  the  world.  Here  is  a  chance  in  your 
way.  Of  course  that  keg  of  brandy  who  w^ent  out  just  now 
understands  very  well  who  you  are.  He  wants  to  be  civil  to 
me,  and  he  thinks  it  wise  to  be  civil  to  you  also.     He  has  a  hat 


96  THE   THKEE    CLERKS. 

flill  of  these  shares,  and  he  tells  me  that,  knowing  my  weakness, 
and  presuming  that  you  have  the  same,  he  bought  a  few  extra 
this  morning,  thinking  we  might  like  them.  Now,  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  there  is  not  a  single  man  whom  the  Go- 
vernment could  send  down  here,  from  Sir  Gregory  downwards, 
who  would  refuse  the  chance." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  Neverbend " 

"Oh!  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  choke  me  with  Neverbend; 
the  fools  are  fools,  and  will  be  so  ;  they  are  used  for  their  folly. 
I  speak  of  men  wnth  brains.  How  do  you  think  that  such  men 
as  Hardlines,  Vigil,  and  Mr^.  Estjmate  have  got  up  in  the  world  ? 
Would  they  be  where  they  are  now,  had  they  been  contented 
with  their  salaries?" 

"  They  had  private  fortunes." 

"  Very  private  they  must  have  been — I  never  heard  of  them. 
No  ;  what  fortunes  they  have  they  made.  Two  of  them  are  in 
Parliament,  and  the  other  has  a  Government  situation  of  2,000/. 
a-year,  with  little  or  nothing  to  do.  But  they  began  life  early, 
and  never  lost  a  chance." 

"It  is  quite  clear  that  that  blackguard  who  was  here  just 
now  thinks  that  he  can  influence  my  opinion  by  inducing  me  to 
have  an  interest  in  the  matter." 

"  He  had  no  such  idea — nor  have  I.  Do  you  think  I  would 
persuade  you  to  such  villany  ?  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know 
you  too  well  ?  Of  course  the  possession  of  these  shares  can 
have  no  possible  effect  on  your  report,  and  is  not  expected  to 
have  any.  But  when  men  like  you  and  me  become  of  any  note 
in  the  world,  others,  such  as  Manylodes,  like  to  know  that  we 
are  embarked  in  the  same  speculation  with  themselves.  Wh}'' 
are  members  of  parliament  asked  to  be  directors,  and  vice-go- 
vernors, and  presidents,  and  guardians,  of  all  the  joint-stock 
societies  that  are  now  set  agoing  ?  Not  because  of  their  capital, 
for  they  generally  have  none  ;  not  for  their  votes,  because  one 
vote  can  be  but  of  little  use  in  any  emergency.  It  is  because 
the  names  of  men  of  note  are  worth  money.  Men  of  note 
understand  this,  and  enjoy  the  fat  of  the  land  accordingly.  I 
want  to  see  you  among  the  number." 

'Twas  thus  the  devil  pleaded  for  the  soul  of  Alaric  Tudor  ; 
and,  alas  !  he  did  not  plead  in  vain.  Let  him  but  have  a  fair 
hearing,  and  he  seldom  does.  '  Tis  in  this  way  that  the  truth 
of  that  awful  mystery,  the  fall  of  man,  comes  home  to  us;  that 
w^e  cannot  hear  the  devil  plead,  and  resist  the  charm  of  his  elo- 
quence.    To  listen  is  to  be  lost.     "  Lead  us  not  into  temptation, 


ME.    MANYLODES.  97 

but  deliver  us  from  evil !"  Let  that  petition  come  forth  from  a 
man's  heart,  a  true  and  earnest  prayer,  and  he  will  be  so  led  that 
he  shall  not  hear  the  charmer,  let  him  charm  ever  so  wiseW. 

'Twas  but  a  thin  veil'  that  the  Hon.  Undecimus  Scott  threw 
over  the  bait  with  which  he  fished  for  the  honesty  of  Alaric 
Tudor,  and  yet  it  sufficed.  One  would  say  that  a  young  man, 
fortified  with  such  aspirations  as  those  which  glowed  in  Alaric's 
breast,  should  have  stood  a  longer  siege  ;  should  have  been  able 
to  look  with  clearer  eyesight  on  the  landmarks  which  divide 
honor  from  dishonor,  integrity  from  fraud,  and  truth  from 
falsehood.  But  he  had  never  prayed  to  be  delivered  from  evil. 
His  desire  had  rather  been  that  he  might  be  led  into  temptation. 

He  had  never  so  prayed — yet  had  he  daily  said  his  prayers 
at  fitting  intervals.  On  every  returning  Sunday  had  he  gone 
through,  wdth  all  the  fitting  forms,  the  ordinary  worship  of  a 
Christian.  Nor  had  he  done  this  as  a  hypocrite.  With  due 
attention  and  a  full  belief  he  had  weekly  knelt  at  God's  temple, 
and  given,  if  not  his  mind,  at  least  his  heart,  to  the  service  of 
his  church.  But  the  inner  truth  of  the  prayer  which  he 
repeated  so  often  had  not  come  home  to  him.  Alas !  how 
many  of  us  from  week  to  week  call  ourselves  worms  and  dust 
and  miserable  sinners,  describe  ourselves  as  chaff  for  the  winds, 
grass  for  the  burning,  stubble  for  the  plough,  as  dirt  and  filth 
fit  only  to  be  trodden  under  foot,  and  yet  in  all  our  doings 
before  the  world  cannot  bring  home  to  ourselves  the  conviction 
that  we  require  other  guidance  than  our  own ! 

Alaric  Tudor  had  sighed  for  permission  to  go  fortb  among 
worldlings  and  there  fight  the  world's  battle.  Power,  station, 
rank,  wealth,  all  the  good  things  which  men  earn  by  tact, 
diligence,  and  fortune  combined,  and  which  were  so  far  from 
him  at  his  outset  in  life,  became  daily  more  dear  to  his  heart. 
And  now  his  honorable  friend  twitted  him  with  being  a  mere 
clerk !  No,  he  w^as  not,  never  had  been,  never  would  be  such. 
Had  he  not  already,  in  five  or  six  years,  distanced  his  com- 
petitors, and  made  himself  the  favorite  and  friend  of  men 
infinitely  above  him  in  station  ?  Was  be  not  now  here  in  Tavis- 
tock on  a  mission  which  proved  that  he  was  no  mere  clerk  ?  Was 
not  the  fact  of  his  drinking  bishop  in  the  familiar  society  of  a 
lord's  son,  and  an  ex-M.P.,  a  proof  of  it  ? 

It  would  be  calumny  on  him  to  say  that  he  had  allowed 
Scott  to  make  him  tipsy  on  this  occasion.  He  was  far  from 
being  tipsy ;  but  yet  the  mixture  which  he  had  been  drinking 
had  told  upon  his  brain. 


98  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

"But,  TJndy,"  said  he — he  had  never  before  called  his 
honorable  friend  by  his  Christian  name — "  but,  Undy,  if  I  take 
these  shares,  where  am  I  to  get  the  money  to  pay  for  them  ?" 

"  The  chances  are  you  may  part  with  them  before  you  leave 
Tavistock.  If  so,  you  will  not  have  to  pay  for  them.  You 
will  only  have  to  pocket  the  difference." 

"  Or  pay  the  loss." 

"  Or  pay  the  loss.  But  there's  no  chance  of  that.  I'll 
guarantee  you  against  that." 

"  But  I  shan't  like  to  sell  them.  I  shan't  choose  to  be 
trafficking  in  shares.  Buying  a  few  as  an  investment  may, 
perhaps,  be  a  different  thing." 

Oh,  Alaric,  Alaric,  to  what  a  pass  had  your  conscience  come, 
when  it  could  be  so  silenced  ! 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  can  raise  a  couple  of  hundred — 205?. 
will  cover  the  w^hole  thing,  commission  and  all ;  but,  mind,  I 
don't  advise  you  to  keep  them  long — I  shall  take  two  months' 
dividends,  and  then  sell." 

"Two  hundred  and  five  pounds,"  said  Tudor,  to  whom  the 
sum  seemed  anything  but  trifling ;  "  and  when  must  it  be 
?" 

"  Well,  I  can  give  Manylodes  a  cheque  for  the  whole,  dated 
this  day  week.  You'll  be  back  in  town  before  that.  We  must 
allow  him  51.  for  the  accommodation.  I  suppose  you  can  pay 
the  money  in  at  my  banker's  by  that  day  ?" 

Alaric  had  some  portion  of  the  amount  himself,  and  he  knew 
that  Norman  had  money  by  him ;  he  felt  also  a  half-drunken 
conviction  that  if  Norman  failed  him,  Captain  Cuttwater  would 
not  let  him  want  such  a  sum ;  and  so  he  said  that  he  could,  and 
the  bargain  was  completed. 

As  he  went  downstairs  whistling  with  an  affected  ease,  and  a 
gaiety  which  he  by  no  means  felt,  Undy  Scott  leant  back  in  his 
chair,  and  began  to  speculate  whether  his  new  purchase  was  worth 
the  purchase-money.  "  He's  a  sharp  fellow,  certainly,  in  some 
things,  and  may  do  well  yet ;  but  he's  uncommonly  green. 
That,  however,  will  wear  off.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he 
told  Neverbend  the  whote  transaction  this  time  to  morrow." 
And  then  Mr.  Scott  finished  his  cigar  and  went  to  bed. 

When  Alaric  entered  the  sittiug-room  at  the  Bedford,  he 
found  Neverbend  still  seated  at  the  table  covered  with  official 
books  and  huge  bundles  of  official  papers.  An  enormous  report 
was  open  before  him,  from  which  he  was  culling  the  latent 
sweets,  and  extracting  them  with  a  pencil.      He  glowered  at 


WHEAL   MARY   JANE.  99 

Alaric  witli  a  severe  suspicious  eye,  whicli  seemed  to  accuse 
liim  at  once  of  the  deed  which  he  had  done. 

"  You  are  very  late,"  said  Ncverbend,  "  but  I  have  not  been 
sorry  to  be  alone.  I  believe  I  have  been  able  to  embody  in 
a  rough  draught  the  various  points  which  we  have  hitherto 
discussed.  I  have  just  been  five  hours  and  a  half  at  it ;"  and 
Fidus  looked  at  his  watch  ;  "five  hours  and  forty  minutes.  To- 
morrow, perhaps,  that  is,  if  you  are  not  going  to  your  friend 
again,  you'll  not  object  to  make  a  fair  copy " 

"  Copy  !"  shouted  Alaric,  in  whose  brain  the  open  air  had 
not  diminished  the  efi'ect  of  the  bishop,  and  who  remembered, 
with  all  the  energy  of  pot  valor,  that  lie  was  not  a  mere  clerk ; 
"  copy — bother ;  I'm  going  to  bed,  old  fellow  ;  and  I  advise  you 
to  do  the  same." 

And  then,  taking  up  a  candlestick  and  stumbling  somewhat 
awkwardly  against  a  chair,  Tudor  went  ofi"  to  his  room,  waiting 
no  further  reply  from  his  colleague. 

Mr.  Neverbend  slowly  put  up  his  papers  and  followed  him. 
"  He  is  decidedly  the  worse  for  drink — decidedly  so,"  said  he  to 
himself,  as  he  pulled  ofi"  his  clothes.  "  What  a  disgrace  to  the 
Woods  and  Works — what  a  disgrace  !" 

And  he  resolved  in  his  mind  that  he  would  be  very  early  at 
the  pit's  mouth.  He  would  not  be  kept  from  his  duty  while 
a  dissipated  colleague  collected  his  senses  b^'"  the  aid  of  soda- 
water. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WHEAL    MARY    JANE. 


Mr.  Manylodes  was,  at  any  rate,  right  in  this,  that  that 
beverage,  which  men  call  bishop,  is  a  doctored  tipple ;  and 
Alaric  Tudor,  when  he  woke  in  the  morning,  owned  the  truth. 
It  had  been  arranged  that  certain  denizens  of  the  mine  should 
meet  the  two  Commissioners  at  the  pit-mouth  at  eight  o'clock, 
and  it  had  been  settled  at  dinner-time  that  breakfast  should  be 
on  the  table  at  seven,  sharp.  Half-an-hour's  quick  driving 
would  take  them  to  the  spot. 

At  seven  Mr.  Fidus  Neverbend,  who  had  never  yet  been 
known  to  be  untrue  to  an  appointment  by  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  was  standing  over  the  breakfast-table  alone.  He  was 
alone,  but  not  on  that  account  unhappy.  He  could  hardly 
disguise  the  pleasure  with  which  he  asked  the  waiter  whether 


100  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

Mr.  Tudor  was  yet  dressed,  or  the  triumph  which  he  felt  when 
he  heard  that  his  colleague  was  not  quite  ready. 

"Bring  the  tea  and  eggs  at  once,"  said  Neverbend,  very 
briskly. 

"  Won't  you  wait  for  Mr.  Tudor  ?"  asked  the  waiter,  with  an 
air  of  surprise.  Now  the  landlord,  waiter,  boots,  and  chamber- 
maid, the  chambermaid  especially,  had  all,  in  Mr.  Neverbend's 
estimation,  paid  Tudor  by  far  too  much  consideration  ;  and 
he  was  determined  to  show  that  he  himself  was  first  fiddle. 

"  Wait !  no ;  quite  out  of  the  question — bring  the  hot  water 
immediately — and  tell  the  ostler  to  have  the  fly  at  the  door  at 
half-past  seven  exact." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  and  disappeared. 

Neverbend  waited  five  minutes,  and  then  rang  the  bell 
impetuously.  "  If  you  don't  bring  me  my  tea  immediately,  I 
shall  send  for  Mr.  Boteldale."  Now  Mr.  Boteldale  was  the 
landlord. 

"  Mr.  Tudor  will  be  down  in  ten  minutes,"  was  the  waiter's 
false  reply ;  for  up  to  that  moment  poor  Alaric  had  not  yet 
succeeded  in  lifting  his  throbbing  head  from  his  pillow.  The 
boots  was  now  with  him  administering  soda-water  and  brandy, 
and  he  was  pondering  in  his  sickened  mind  whether,  by  a 
manful  effort,  he  could  rise  and  dress  himself;  or  whether  he 
would  not  throw  himself  backwards  on  his  coveted  bed,  and 
allow  Neverbend  the  triumph  of  descending  alone  to  the  nether 
world. 

Neverbend  nearly  threw  the  loaf  at  the  waiter's  head.  Wait 
ten  minutes  longer  !  what  right  had  that  vile  Devonshire  napkin- 
twirler  to  make  to  him  so  base  a  proposition  ?  "  Bring  me  my 
breakfast,  sir,"  shouted  Neverbend,  in  a  voice  that  made  the 
unfortunate  sinner  jump  out  of  the  room,  as  though  he  had 
been  moved  by  a  galvanic  battery. 

In  five  minutes,  tea  made  with  lukewarm  water,  and  eggs 
that  were  not  half  boiled,  were  brought  to  the  impatient  Com- 
missioner. As  a  rule  Mr.  Neverbend,  when  travelling  on  the 
public  service,  made  a  practice  of  enjoying  his  meals.  It  was 
the  only  solace  which  he  allowed  himself;  the  only  distraction 
from  the  cares  of  office  which  he  permitted  either  to  his  body 
or  his  mind.  But  on  this  great  occasion  his  country  required 
that  he  should  forget  his  comforts  ;  and  he  drank  his  tasteless 
tea,  and  ate  his  uncooked  eggs,  threatening  the  waiter  as  he 
did  so  with  sundry  pains  and  penalties,  in  the  form  of  sixpences 
iWithheld. 


WHEAL   MARY   JANE.  101 

"  Is  the  fly  there  ? "  said  he,  as  he  bolted  a  last  morsel  of  cold 
roast  beef. 

"  Coming,  sir,"  said  the  waiter,  as  he  disappeared  round  a 
corner. 

In  the  mean  time  Alaric  sat  lackadaisical  on  his  bedside,  all 
undressed,  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  feeling  that  his 
struggle  to  dress  himself  was  all  but  useless.  The  sympathetic 
boots  stood  by  with  a  cup  of  tea — well-drawn  comfortable  tea — 
in  his  hand,  and  a  small  bit  of  dry  toast  lay  near  on  an  adjacent 
plate. 

"Try  a  bit  o'  toast,  sir,"  said  boots. 

"Ugh  !  "  ejaculated  poor  Alaric. 

"  Have  a  little  drop  o'  rum  in  the  tea,  sir,  and  it  '11  set  you 
all  to  rights  in  two  minutes." 

The  proposal  made  Alaric  very  sick,  and  nearly  completed 
the  catastrophe.     "  Ugh  1  "  he  said. 

"  There  's  the  trap,  sir,  for  Mr.  Neverbend,"  said  the  boots, 
whose  ears  caught  the  well-known  sound. 

"  The  devil  it  is ! "  said  Alaric,  who  was  now  stirred  up  to 
instant  action.  "  Take  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Neverbend,  and 
tell  him  I  '11  thank  him  to  wait  ten  minutes." 

Boots,  descending  with  the  message,  found  Mr.  Neverbend 
ready  coated  and  g-loved,  standing  at  the  hotel  door.  The  fly 
was  there,  and  the  lame  ostler  holding  the  horse ;  but  the  pro- 
voking driver  had  gone  back  for  his  coat. 

"  Please,  sir,  Mr.  Tudor  says  as  how  you  're  not  to  go  just  at 
present,  but  to  wait  ten  minutes  till  he  be  ready." 

Neverbend  looked  at  the  man,  but  he  would  not  trust  him- 
self to  speak.  Wait  ten  minutes,  and  it  now  wanted  five-and- 
twenty  minutes  to  eight ! — no — not  for  all  the  Tudors  that  ever 
sat  upon  the  throne  of  England. 

There  he  stood  with  his  watch  in  his  hand  as  the  returning 
Jehu  hurried  round  from  the  stable  yard.  "  You  are  now  seven 
minutes  late,"  said  he,  "  and  if  you  are  not  at  the  place  by  eight 
o'clock,  I  shall  not  give  you  one  farthing ! " 

"  All  right,"  said  Jehu.  *'  We  '11  be  at  Mary  Jane  in  less  than 
no  time ;  "  and  off"  they  went,  not  at  the  quickest  pace.  But 
Neverbend's  heart  beat  high  with  triumph,  as  he  reflected  that 
he  had  carried  the  point  on  which  he  had  been  so  intent. 

Alaric,  when  he  heard  the  wheels  roll  off",  shook  from  him 
his  lethargy.  It  was  not  only  that  Neverbend  would  boast  that 
he  alone  had  gone  through  the  perils  of  their  subterranean 
duty,  but  that  doubtless  he  would  explain  in  London  how  his 


102  THE  THREE    CLERKS. 

colleague  had  been  deterred  from  following  him.  It  was  a 
grievous  task,  that  of  dressing  himself,  as  youthful  sinners  know 
but  too  well.  Every  now  and  then  a  qualm  would  come  over 
him,  and  make  the  work  seem  all  but  impossible.  Boots,  how- 
ever, stuck  to  him  like  a  man,  poured  cold  water  over  his  head, 
renewed  his  tea-cup,  comforted  him  with  assurances  of  the 
bracing  air,  and  put  a  paper  full  of  sandwiches  in  his  pocket. 

"For  heaven's  sake  put  them  away,"  said  Alaric,  to  whom 
the  very  idea  of  food  was  repulsive. 

"  You  '11  want  'em,  sir,  afore  you  are  half  way  to  Mary  Jane  ; 
and  it  a'n't  no  joke  going  down  and  up  again.  I  know  what's 
what,  sir." 

The  boots  stuck  to  him  like  a  man.  He  did  not  only  get 
him  sandwiches,  but  he  procured  for  him  also  Mr.  Boteldale's 
own  fast-trotting  pony,  and  just  as  Neverbend  was  rolling  up  to 
the  pit's  mouth  fifteen  minutes  after  his  time,  greatly  resolving 
in  his  own  mind  to  button  his  breeches-pocket  firmly  against 
the  recreant  driver,  Alaric  started  on  the  chase  after  him. 

Mr.  Neverbend  had  a  presentiment  that,  sick  as  his  friend 
might  be,  nauseous  as  doubtless  were  the  qualms  arising  from 
yesterday's  intemperance,  he  would  make  an  attempt  to  recover 
his  lost  ground.  He  of  the  Woods  and  Works  had  begun  to 
recognise  the  energy  of  him  of  the  W-eights  and  Measures,  and 
felt  that  there  was  in  it  a  force  that  woufd  not^easily  be  over- 
come, even  by  the  fumes  of  bishop.  But  yet  it  would  be  a 
great  thing  for  the  Woods  and  Works  if  he,  Neverbend,  could 
descend  in  this  perilous  journey  to  the  deep  bowels  of  the 
earth,  leaving  the  Weights  and  Measures  stranded  in  the  upper 
air.  This  descent  among  the  hidden  riches  of  a  lower  world, 
this  visit  to  the  provocations  of  evils  not  yet  dug  out  from  their 
durable  confinement,  was  the  key-stone,  as  it  were,  of  the  whole 
mission.  Let  Neverbend  descend  alone,  alone  inspect  the 
wonders  of  that  dirty  deep,  and  Tudor  might  then  talk  and 
write  as  he  pleased.  In  such  case  all  the  world  of  the  two 
public  ofiices  in  question,  and  of  some  others  cognate  to  them, 
would  adjudge  that  he,  Neverbend,  had  made  himself  master 
of  the  situation. 

Actuated  by  these  correct  calculations,  Mr.  Neverbend  was 
rather  fussy  to  begin  an  immediate  descent  when  he  found  him- 
self on  the  spot.  Two  native  gentlemen,  who  were  to  accom- 
pany the  Commissioners,  or  the  Commissioner,  as  appeared 
likely  to  be  the  case,  were  already  there,  as  were  also  the  men 
who  were  to  attend  upon  them. 


WHEAL  MARY   JANE.  103 

It  was  an  ugly  uninviting  place  to  look  at,  with  but  few 
visible  signs  of  wealth.  The  earth,  which  had  been  burrowed 
out  by  these  human  rabbits  in  their  search  after  tin,  lay  around 
in  large  ungainly  heaps ;  the  overground  buildings  of  the 
establishment  consisted  of  a  few  ill-arranged  sheds,  already 
apparently  in  a  state  of  decadence  ;  dirt  and  slush,  and  pools  of 
water  confined  by  muddy  dams,  abounded  on  every  side  ;  muddy 
men,  with  muddy  carts  and  muddy  horses,  slowly  crawled 
hither  and  thither,  apparently  with  no  object,  and  evidently 
indifferent  as  to  whom  they  might  overset  in  their  course.  The 
inferior  men  seemed  to  show  no  respect  to  those  above  them,  and 
the  superiors  to  exercise  no  authority  over  those  below  them. 
There  was  a  sullen  equality  among  them  all.  On  the  ground 
around  was  no  vegetation ;  nothing  green  met  the  eye,  some 
few  stunted  bushes  appeared  here  and  there,  nearly  smothered 
by  heaped-up  mud,  but  they  had  about  them  none  of  the 
attractiveness  of  foliage.  The  whole  scene,  though  consisting 
of  earth  alone,  was  unearthly,  and  looked  as  though  the  devil 
had  walked  over  the  place  with  hot  hoofs,  and  then  raked  it 
with  a  huge  rake. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  very  late,"  said  Neverbend,  getting  out  of 
his  fly  in  all  the  haste  he  could  muster,  and  looking  at  his 
watch  the  moment  his  foot  touched  the  ground,  "  very  late, 
indeed,  gentlemen ;  I  really  must  apologise,  but  it  was  the 
driver ;  I  was  punctual  to  the  minute,  I  was  indeed.  But  come, 
gentlemen,  we  won't  lose  another  moment,"  and  Mr.  Neverbend 
stepped  out  as  though  he  were  ready  at  an  instant's  notice  to 
phmge  head-foremost  down  the  deepest  shaft  in  all  that  region 
of  mines. 

"  Oh,  sir,  there  a'n't  no  cause  of  hurry  whatsomever,"  said  one 
of  the  mining  authorities ;  "  the  day  is  long  enough." 

"  Oh,  but  there  is  cause  of  hurry,  Mr.  Undershot,"  said  Never- 
bend, angrily,  "great  cause  of  hurry;  we  must  do  this  work 
very  thoroughly  ;  and  I  positively  have  not  time  to  get  through 
all  that  I  have  before  me." 

"  But  a'n't  the  other  gen'leman  a  coming  ?"  said  Mr.  Under- 
shot. 

"Surely  Mr.  Tooder  isn't  agoing  to  cry  off?"  said  the  other. 
"  Why,  he  was  soTiot  about  it  yesterday." 

"  Mr.  Tudor  is  not  very  well  this  morning,"  said  Mr.  Never- 
bend. "  As  his  going  down  is  not  necessary  for  the  inquiry, 
and  is  merely  a  matter  of  taste  on  his  part,  he  has  not  joined 
me  this  morning.     Come,  gentlemen,  are  we  ready  ?" 


104  THE  THKEE   CLERKS. 

It  was  then  for  the  first  time  explained  to  Mr.  Neverbend 
that  he  had  to  go  through  a  rather  complicated  adjustment  of 
his  toilet  beforehe  would  be  considered  fit  to  meet  the  infernal 
gods.  He  must,  he  was  informed,  envelope  himself  from  head 
to  foot  in  miners'  habiliments,  if  he  wished  to  save  every  stitch 
he  had  on  him  from  dirt  and  destruction.  He  must  also  cover 
up  his  head  with  a  hnen  cap,  so  constituted  as  to  carry  a  lump 
of  mud  with  a  candle  stuck  in  it,  if  he  wished  to  save  either  his 
head  from  filth  or  his  feet  from  falling.  Now  Mr.  Neverbend, 
like  most  clerks  in  public  ofiices,  was  somewhat  particular  about 
his  wardrobe ;  it  behoved  him,  as  a  gentleman  frequenting  the 
West  End,  to  dress  well,  and  it  also  behoved  him  to  dress 
cheaply ;  he  was,  moreover,  careful  both  as  to  his  head  and 
feet ;  he  could  not,  therefore,  reject  the  recommended  precau- 
tions, but  yet  the  time ! — the  time  thus  lost  might  destroy  all. 

He  hurried  into  the  shed  where  his  toilet  was  to  be  made, 
and  suffered  himself  to  be  prepared  in  the  usual  way.  He  took 
off  his  own  great-coat,  and  put  on  a  muddy  coarse  linen  jacket 
that  covered  the  upper  portion  of  his  body  completely  ;  he  then 
dragged  on  a  pair  of  equally  muddy  overalls ;  and,  lastly,  sub- 
mitted to  a  most  uninviting  cap,  which  came  down  over  his  ears, 
and  nearly  over  his  eyes,  and  on  the  brow  of  which  a  lump  of 
mud  was  then  aflSxed,  bearing  a  short  tallow  candle. 

But  though  dressed  thus  in  miners'  garb,  Mr.  Neverbend 
could  not  be  said  to  look  the  part  he  filled.  He  was  a  stout, 
reddish-faced  gentleman,  with  round  shoulders  and  huge  whiskers, 
he  was  nearly  bald,  and  wore  spectacles,  and  in  the  costume  in 
which  he  now  appeared,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  at  his  ease. 
Indeed,  all  his  air  of  command,  all  his  personal  dignity  and 
dictatorial  tone,  left  him  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  metamor- 
phosed into  a  fat  pseudo-miner.  He  was  like  a  cock  whose 
feathers  had  been  trailed  through  the  mud,  and  who  could  no 
longer  crow  aloud,  or  claim  the  dunghill  as  his  own.  His 
appearance  was  somewhat  that  of  a  dirty  dissipated  cook  who, 
having  been  turned  out  of  one  of  the  clubs  for  drunkenness,  had 
been  wandering  about  the  streets  all  nigKt.  He  began  to  wish 
that  he  was  once  more  in  the  well-known  neighborhood  of 
Charing  Cross. 

The  adventure,  however,  must  now  be  carried  through. 
There  was  still  enough  of  manhood  in  his  heart  to  make  him 
feel  that  he  could  not  return  to  his  colleague  at  Tavistock,  with- 
out visiting  the  wonders  which  he  had  come  so  far  to  see.  When 
he  reached  the  head  of  the  shaft,  however,  the  affair  did  appear 


WHEAL   MARY   JANE.  105 

to  him  to  be  more  terrible  than  he  had  before  conceived.  He 
was  invited  to  get  into  a  rongh  square  bucket,  in  Avhich  there 
was  just  room  for  himself  and  another  to  stand  ;  he  was  specially 
cautioned  to  keep  his  head  straight,  and  his  hands  and  elbows 
from  protruding,  and  then  the  windlass  began  to  turn,  and  the 
upper  world,  the  sunlight,  and  all  humanity  receded  from  his 
view. 

The  world  receded  from  his  view,  but  hardly  soon  enough  ; 
for  as  the  windlass  turned  and  the  bucket  descended,  his  last 
terrestrial  glance,  looking  out  among  the  heaps  of  mud,  descried 
Alaric  Tudor  galloping  on  Mr.  Boteldale's  pony  up  to  the  very 
mouth  of  the  mine. 

"  Facilis  descensus  AverniP  The  bucket  went  down  easy 
enough,  and  all  too  quick.  The  manner  in  which  it  grounded 
itself  on  the  first  landing  grated  discordantly  on  Mr.  Neverbend's 
finer  perceptibilities.  But  when  he  learnt,  after  the  interchange 
of  various  hoarse,  and  to  him  unintelligible  bellowings,  that  he 
was  to  wait  in  that  narrow,  damp  lobby,  for  the  coming  of  his 
fellow-Commissioner,  the  grating  on  his  feelings  was  even  more 
discordant.  lie  had  not  pluck  enough  left  to  grumble  :  but  he 
grunted  his  displeasure.  He  grunted,  however,  in  vain  ;  for  in 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Alaric  was  close  to  him,  shoulder  to 
shoulder.  He  also  wore  a  white  jacket,  &c.,  with  a  nightcap  of 
mud,  and  candle  on  his  head  ;  but  somehow  he  looked  as  though 
he  had  worn  them  all  his  life.  The  fast  gallop,  and  the  excite- 
ment of  the  masquerade,  which  for  him  had  charms  the  sterner 
Neverbend  could  not  feel,  had  dissipated  his  sickness  ;  and  he 
was  once  more  all  himself. 

"  So  I  've  caught  you  at  the  first  stage,"  said  he,  good- 
humoredly  ;  for  though  he  knew  how  badly  he  had  been  treated, 
he  was  much  too  wise  to  show  his  knowledge.  "  It  shall  go 
hard  but  I  '11  distance  you  before  we  have  done,"  he  said  to  him- 
seli-    Poor  Neverbend  only  grunted. 

And  then  they  all  w^ent  down  a  second  stage  in  another 
bucket ;  and  then  a  third  in  a  third  bucket ;  and  then  the 
business  commenced.  As  far  as  this  point,  passive  courage  alone 
had  been  required  ;  to  stand  upright  in  a  wooden  tub,  and  go 
down,  and  down,  and  down,  was  in  itself  easy  enough,  so  long 
as  the  heart  did  not  utterly  faint.  Mr.  Neverbend's  heart  had 
grown  faintish,  but  still  he  had  persevered,  and  noAV  stood  on  a 
third  lobby,  listening  with  dull,  unintelligent  ears,  to  eager 
questions  asked  by  his  colleague,  and  to  the  rapid  answers  of 
their  mining  guides.     Tudor  was  absolutely  at  work  with  paper 

5* 


106  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

and  pencil,  taking  down  notes  in  tliat  wretclied  Pandemo- 
nium. 

"  There  now,  sir,"  said  tlie  guide,  "  no  more  of  them  ugly 
buckets,  Mr.  Neverbend  ;  we  can  trust  to  our  own  arms  and  legs 
for  the  rest  of  it,"  and  so  saying,  he  pointed  out  to  Mr.  Never- 
bend's  horror-stricken  eyes,  a  perpendicular  iron  ladder  fixed 
firmly  against  the  upright  side  of  a  shaft,  and  leading — for  aught 
Mr.  Neverbend  could  see — direct  to  hell  itself. 

"  Down  here,  is  it  ?"  said  Alaric,  peeping  over. 

"I'll  go  first,"  said  the  guide ;  and  down  he  went,  down,  down, 
down,  till  Neverbend  looking  over,  could  barely  see  the  glimmer 
of  his  disappearing  head  light.  Was  it  absolutely  intended  that 
he  should  disappear  in  the  same  way  ?  Had  he  bound  himself 
to  go  down  that  fiendish  upright  ladder  ?  And  were  he  to  go 
down  it,  what  then  ?  Would  it  be  possible  that  a  man  of  his 
weight  should  ever  come  up  again  ?  * 

"  Shall  it  be  you  or  I  next  ?"  said  Alaric,  very  civilly.  Never- 
bend could  only  pant  and  grunt,  and  Alaric,  with  a  courteous 
nod,  placed  himself  on  the  ladder,  and  went  clown,  down,  down, 
till  of  him  also  nothing  was  left  but  the  faintest  glimmer.  Mr. 
Neverbend  remained  above  with  one  of  the  mining  authorities ; 
one  attendant  miner  also  remained  with  them. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  the  authority,  "  if  you  are  ready,  the  ladder 
is  quite  free." 

Free !  What  would  not  Neverbend  have  given  to  be  free  also 
himself  !  He  looked  down  the  free  ladder,  and  the  very  look 
made  him  sink.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  nothing  but  a  spi- 
der could  creep  down  that  perpendicular  abyss.  And  then  a 
sound,  slow,  sharp,  and  continuous,  as  of  drops  falling  through 
infinite  space  on  to  deep  water,  came  upon  his  ear  ;  and  he  saw 
that  the  sides  of  the  abyss  were  covered  with  slime ;  and  the 
damp  air  made  him  cough,  and  the  cap  had  got  over  his  specta- 
cles and  nearly  blinded  him  ;  and  he  was  perspiring  w^ith  a  cold^ 
clammy  sweat. 

"  Well,  sir,  shall  we  be  going  on  ?"  said  the  authority.  "  Mr. 
Tooder  '11  be  at  the  foot  of  the  next  set  before  this." 

Mr.  Neverbend  wished  that  Mr.  Tudor's  journey  might  still 
be  down,  and  down,  and  down,  till  he  reached  the  globe's  cen- 
tre, in  which  conflicting  attractions  might  keep  him  for  ever 
fixed.  In  his  despair  he  essayed  to  put  one  foot  upon  the  lad- 
der, and  then  looked  piteously  up  to  the  guide's  face.  Even  in 
that  dark,  dingy  atmosphere,  the  light  of  the  farthing  candle  on 
his  head  revealed  the  agony  of  his  heart.     His  companions, 


WHEAL   MARY   JANE.  107 

tlion2:li  tliey  were  miners,  were  still  men.  They  saw  liis  misery, 
and  relented. 

"  Maybe  thee  be  afeared  ?"  said  the  working  miner  ;  "  and  if 
so  be  thee  bee'st,  thee'd  better  bide." 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  never  come  up  again,"  feaid  Neverbend, 
with  a  voice  pleading  for  mercy,  but  with  all  the  submission  of 
one  prepared  to  suflfer  without  resistance  if  mercy  should  not  be 
forthcoming. 

"  Thee  bee'st  for  sartan  too  thick  and  weazy  like  for  them 
stairs,"  said  the  miner. 

"  I  am,  I  am,"  said  Neverbend,  turning  on  the  man  a  look  of 
the  warmest  affection,  and  shoving  the  horrid,  heavy,  encum- 
bered cap  from  off  his  spectacles  ;  "  yes,  I  am  too  fat."  How 
would  he  have  annihilated  the  sinner,  had  such  a  man  dared  to 
call  him  weazy  up  above,  on  terra  firma,  under  the  canopy  of 
heaven  ? 

His  troubles,  however,  or  at  any  rate  his  dangers,  were  brought 
to  an  end.  As  soon  as  it  became  plainly  manifest  that  his  zeal 
in  the  public  service  would  carry  him  no  lower,  and  would 
hardly  suffice  to  keep  life  throbbing  in  his  bosom  much  longer, 
even  in  his  present  level,  preparations  were  made  for  his  ascent. 
A  bell  was  rung ;  hoarse  voices  were  again  heard  speaking  and 
answering  in  sounds  quite  unintelligible  to  a  Cockney's  ears ; 
chains  rattled,  the  windlass  whirled,  and  the  huge  bucket  came 
tumbling  down,  nearly  on  their  heads.  Poor  Neverbend  was 
all  but  lifted  into  it.  Where  now  was  all  the  pride  of  the  morn 
that  had  seen  him  go  forth  the  great  dictator  of  the  mines  ? — 
Where  was  that  towering  spirit  with  which  he  had  ordered  his 
tea  and  toast,  and  rebuked  the  slowness  of  his  charioteer  ? — 
Where  the  ambition  that  had  soared  so  high  over  the  pet  of 
the  Weights  and  Measures  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  how  few  of  us  there 
are  who  \\qyq  within  us  the  courage  to  be  great  in  adversity ! 
'-'■^quann  memento " — <f  c,  (he.  ! — if  thou  couldst  but  have 
thought  of  it,  O  Neverbend,  who  need'st  must  some  day  die! 

But  Neverbend  did  not  think  of  it.  How  few  of  us  do 
remember  such  lessons  at  those  moments  in  which  they  ought  to 
be  of  use  to  us  !  He  was  all  but  lifted  into  the  tub,  and  then 
out  of  it,  and  again  into  another,  till  he  reached  the  upper 
world,  a  sight  piteous  to  behold.  His  spectacles  had  gone  from 
him,  his  cap  covered  his  eyes,  his  lamp  had  reversed  itself,  and 
soft  globules  of  grease  had  fallen  on  his  nose,  he  was  bathed  in 
perspiration,  and  was  nevertheless  chilled  through  to  his  very 
bones,  his  whiskers  were  fringed  with  mud,  and  his  black  cravat 


108  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

had  been  pulled  fromliis  neck  and  lost  in  some  infernal  struggle. 
Nevertheless,  the  moment  in  which  he  seated  himself  on  a  hard 
stool  in  that  rough  shed,  was  perhaps  the  happiest  in  his  life; 
some  Christian  brought  him  beer  ;  had  it  been  nectar  from  the 
brewery  of  the  gods,  he  could  not  have  drunk  it  with  greater 
avidity. 

By  slow  degrees  he  made  such  toilet  as  circumstances 
allowed,  and  then  had  himself  driven  back  to  Tavistock,  being 
no  more  willing  to  wait  for  Tudor  now  than  he  had  been  in  the 
early  morning.  But  Jehu  found  him  much  more  reasonable  on 
his  return  ;  and  as  that  respectable  functionary  pocketed  his 
half-crown,  he  fully  understood  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  given. 
Poor  Neverbend  had  not  now  enough  pluck  left  in  him  to 
combat  the  hostility  of  a  postboy. 

Alaric,  who  of  course  contrived  to  see  all  that  was  to  be  seen, 
and  learn  all  that  was  to  be  learnt,  in  the  dark  passages  of  the 
tin  mine,  was  careful  on  his  return  to  use  his  triumph  with  the 
greatest  moderation.  His  conscience  was,  alas,  burdened  with 
the  guilty  knowledge  of  Undy's  shares.  When  he  came  to 
think  of  the  transaction  as  he  rode  leisurely  back  to  Tavistock, 
he  knew  how  wrong  he  had  been,  and  yet  he  felt  a  kind.of 
triumph  at  the  spoil  which  he  held  ;  for  he  had  heard  among 
the  miners  that  the  shares  of  Mary  Jane  were  already  going  up 
to  some  incredible  standard  of  value.  In^thjg,  niaojner,  so  said 
he  to  himself,  h  ad  jj]  tli  p.  .^greatmind  s  of  the  present'day  made 
their'lffone}^  and  kept  themselves"  afloatr-  'Twas  thus  he  tried 
to  comfort  himself;  but  not  as  yet  successfully. 

There  were  no  more  squabbles  between  Mr.  Neverbend  and 
Mr.  Tudor ;  each  knew  that  of  himself,  which  made  him  bear 
and  forbear ;  and  so  the  two  Commissioners  returned  to  town 
on  good  terms  with  each  other,  and  Alaric  wrote  a  report, 
which  delighted  the  heart  of  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines,  ruined  the 
opponents  of  the  great  tin  mine,  and  sent  the  Mary  Jane  shares 
up,  and  up,  and  up,  till  speculating  men  thought  that  they  could 
not  give  too  high  a  price  to  secure  them. 

Alaric  returned  to  town  on  Friday.  It  had  been  arranged 
that  he,  and  Charley,  and  Norman,  should  all  go  down  to 
Hampton  on  the  Saturday ;  and  then,  on  the  following  week, 
the  competitive  examination  was  to  take  place.  But  Alaric's 
first  anxiety  after  his  return  was  to  procure  the  205Z.,  which  he 
had  to  pay  for  the  shares  which  he  held  in  his  pocket-book. 
He  all  but  regretted,  as  he  journeyed  up  to  town,  with  the  now 
tame  Fidus  seated  opposite  to  him,  that  he  had  not  disposed  of 


WHEAL    MARY   JANE.  109 

them  at  Tavistock  even  at  half  their  present  vakie,  so  that  lie 
might  have  saved  himself  the  necessity  of  being  a  borrower, 
and  have  wiped  his  hands  of  the  whole  aftair. 

He  and  Norman  dined  together  at  their  club  in  Waterloo 
Place,  the  Pythagorean,  a  much  humbler  establishment  than 
that  patronized  by  Scott,  and  one  that  was  dignified  by  no 
politics.  After  dinner,  as  they  sat  over  their  pint  of  sherry, 
Alaric  made  his  request. 

"  Harry,"  said  he,  suddenly,  "  you  are  always  full  of  money 
— I  want  you  to  lend  me  150/." 

Norman  was  much  less  quick  in  his  mode  of  speaking  than 
his  friend,  and  at  the  present  moment  w^as  inclined  to  be  some- 
what slower  than  usual.  This  affair  of  the  examination  pressed 
upon  his  spirits,  and  made  him  dull  and  unhappy.  During  the 
whole  of  dinner  he  had  said  little  or  nothing,  and  had  since 
been  sitting  listlessly  gazing  at  vacancy,  and  balancing  himself 
on  the  hind-legs  of  his  chair. 

"  0  yes — certainly,"  said  he ;  but  he  said  it  without  the 
eagerness  w^ith  which  Alaric  thought  that  he  should  have 
answered  his  request. 

"  If  it's  inconvenient,  or  if  you  don't  like  it,"  said  Alaric,  the 
blood  mounting  to  his  forehead,  "  it  does  not  signify.  I  can  do 
without  it." 

"  I  can  lend  it  you  without  any  inconvenience,"  said  Harry. 
"When  do  you  want  it — not  to-night,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No — not  to-night — I  should  like  to  have  it  early  to-morrow 
morning ;  but  I  see  you  don't  like  it,  so  I'll  manage  it  some 
other  way." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  not  liking  it.  I  have  not 
the  slightest  objection  to  lending  you  any  money  I  can  spare. 
I  don't  think  you'll  find  any  other  of  your  friends  who  w^ill  like 
it  better.     You  can  have  it  by  eleven  o'clock  to-morrow." 

Intimate  as  the  two  men  were,  there  had  hitherto  been  very 
little  borrowing  or  lending  between  them  ;  and  now  Alaric 
felt  as  though  he  owed  it  to  his  intimacy  with  his  friend  to 
explain  to  him  why  he  wanted  so  large  a  sum  in  so  short  a 
time.  He  felt,  moi-cover,  that  he  would  not  himself  be  so 
much  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done  if  he  could  confess  it  to 
some  one  else.  He  could  then  solace  himself  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  he  had  done  nothing  secret.  Norman,  he  supposed, 
would  be  displeased ;  but  then  Norman's  displeasure  could  not 
injure  him,  and  with  Norman  there  would  be  no  danger  that 
the  affair  would  pro  any  further. 


110  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"You  must  think  it  very  strange,"  said  lie,  "that  I  should 
want  such  a  sum ;  but  the  truth  is  I  have  bought  some  shares." 

"  Railway  shares  ?"  said  Norman,  in  a  tone  that  certainly  did 
not  signify  approval.  He  disliked  speculation  altogether,  and 
had  an  old-fashioned  idea  that  men  who  do  speculate,  should 
have  money  wherewith  to  do  it. 

"  No — not  railway  shares,  exactly." 

"  Canal  ?"  suggested  Norman. 

"  No — not  canal." 

"Gas?" 

"Mines,". said  Alaric,  bringing  out  the  dread  truth  at  last. 

Harry  Norman's  brow  grew  very  black.  "  Not  that  mine 
that  you've  been  down  about,  I  hope,"  said  he. 

"  Yes — that  very  identical  Mary  Jane  that  I  went  down,  and 
down  about,"  said  Alaric,  trying  to  joke  on  the  subject.  "Don't 
look  so  very  black,  my  dear  fellow.  I  know  all  you  have  to 
say  upon  the  matter.  I  did  what  was  very  foolish,  I  dare  say ; 
but  the  idea  never  occurred  to  me  till  it  was  too  late,  that  I 
might  be  suspected  of  making  a  false  report  on  the  subject, 
because  I  had  embarked  a  hundred  pounds  in  it." 

"  Alaric,  if  it  were  known " 

"  Then  it  mustn't  be  known,"  said  Tudor.  "  I  am  sorry  for 
it ;  but,  as  I  told  you,  the  idea  didn't  occur  to  me  till  it  was  too 
late.  The  shares  are  bought  now,  and  must  be  paid  for  to- 
morrow. I  shall  sell  them  the  moment  I  can,  and  you  shall 
have  the  money  in  three  or  four  days." 

"  I  don't  care  one  straw  about  the  money,"  said  Norman, 
now  quick  enough,  but  still  in  great  displeasure ,  "  I  would  give 
double  the  amount  that  you  had  not  done  this." 

"  Don't  be  so  suspicious,  Harry,"  said  the  other — "  don't  try 
to  think  the  worst  of  your  friend.  By  others,  by  Sir  Gregory 
Hardlines,  Neverbend,  and  such  men,  I  might  expect  to  be 
judged  harshly  in  such  a  matter.  But  I  have  a  right  to  expect 
that  you  will  believe  me.  I  tell  you  that  I  did  this  inadvert- 
ently, and  am  sorry  for  it ;  surely  that  ought  to  be  sufficient." 

Norman  said  nothing  more ;  but  he  felt  that  Tudor  had  done 
that  which,  if  known,  would  disgrace  him  for  ever.  It  might, 
however,  very  probably,  never  be  known ;  and  it  might  also  be 
that  Tudor  would  never  act  so  dishonestly  again.  On  the  fol- 
lowing morning  the  money  was  paid ;  and  in  the  course  of  the 
flext  week  the  shares  were  resold,  and  the  money  repaid,  and 
Alaric  Tudor,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  found  himself  to  be 
<,:ie  possessor  of  over  three  hundred  pounds. 


THE  THEEE   KINGS.  Ill 

Such  was  the  price  wliich  Scott,  Manylodes,  and  Co.,  had 
found  it  worth  their  while  to  pay  him  for  his  good  report  on 
Mary  Jane. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    THREE    KINGS. 


And  now  came  the  all  important  week.  -On  the  Saturday  < 
the  three  young  men  went  down  to  Hampton.  Charley  had 
lately  been  leading  a  very  mixed  sort  of  life.  One  week  he 
would  consort  mainly  with  the  houri  of  the  Norfolk  Street  beer- 
shop,  and  the  next  he  would  be  on  his  good  behavior,  and  live 
as  respectably  as  circumstances  permitted  him  to  do.  His 
scope  in  this  respect  was  not  large.  The  greatest  respectability 
which  his  unassisted  efforts  could  possibly  achieve  was  to  dine 
at  a  cheap  eating-house,  and  spend  his  evenings  at  a  cigar  divan. 
He  belonged  to  no  club,  and  his  circle  of  friends,  except  in  the 
houri  and  navvy  line,  was  very  limited.  Who  could  expect 
that  a  young  man  from  the  Internal  Navigation  would  sit  for 
hours  and  hours  alone  in  a  dull  London  lodging,  over  his  book 
and  tea-cup  ?  Who  should  expect  that  any  young  man  will  do 
so  ?  And  yet  mothers,  and  aunts,  and  anxious  friends,  do  expect 
it — very  much  in  vain. 

During  Alaric's  absence  at  Tavistock,  Norman  had  taken 
Charley  by  the  hand  and  been  with  him  a  good  deal.  He 
had  therefore  spent  an  uncommonly  respectable  week,  and  the 
Norfolk  Street  houri  would  have  been  au  desespoir,  but  that 
she  had  other  Charleys  to  her  bow.  When  he  found  himself 
getting  into  a  first-class  carriage  at  the  Waterloo-bridge  station 
with  his  two  comrades,  he  began  to  appreciate  the  comfort  of 
decency,  and  almost  wished  that  he  had  been  brought  up  among 
the  stern  morals  and  hard  work  of  the  Weights  and  Measures. 

Nothing  special  occurred  at  Surbiton  Cottage.  It  might  have 
been  evident  to  a  watchful  bystander  that  Alaric  was  growing 
in  favor  with  all  the  party,  excepting  Mrs.  Woodward,  and  that, 
as  he  did  so,  Harry  was  more  and  more  cherished  by  her. 

This  was  specially  shown  in  one  little  scene.  Alaric  had 
brought  down  with  him  to  Hampton  the  documents  necessary  to 
enable  him  to  draw  out  his  report  on  Mary  Jane.  Indeed  it 
was  all  but  necessary  that  he  should  do  so,  as  his  coming  ex- 
amiuation  would  leave  •  him  but  little  time  for  other  business 
during  the  week.     On  Saturday  night  he  sat  up  at  his  inn  over 


112  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

the  papers,  and  on  Sunday  morning,  when  Mrs.  Woodward  and 
the  girls  came  down  ready  bonneted,  for  church,  he  signified  his 
intention  of  remaining  at  his  work. 

"  I  certainly  think  he  might  have  gone  to  church,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward,  when  the  hall-door  closed  behind  the  party,  as  they 
started  to  their  place  of  worship. 

"  Oh !  mamma,  think  how  much  he  has  to  do,"  said  Ger- 
trude. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward ;  "  it's  all  affectation,  and 
he  ought  to  go  to  church.  Government  clerks  are  not  worked 
so  hard  as  all  that ;  are  they,  Harry  ?" 

"  Alaric  is  certainly  very  busy,  but  I  think  he  should  go  to 
church  all  the  same,"  said  Harry,  who  himself  never  omitted 
divine  worship. 

"  But  surely  this  is  a  work  of  necessity  ?"  said  Linda. 
"  Fiddle-de-de,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward  ;  "  I  hate  affectation, 
my  dear.  It's  very  grand,  I  dare  say,  for  a  young  man's  ser- 
vices to  be  in  such  request  that  he  cannot  find  time  to  say  his 
prayers.  He'll  find  plenty  of  time  for  gossiping  by  and  by,  I 
don't  doubt." 

Linda  could  say  nothing  further,  for  an  unbidden  tear  moist- 
ened her  eyelid  as  she  heard  her  mother  speak  so  harshly  of  her 
lover.  Gertrude,  however,  took  up  the  cudgels  for  him,  and  so 
did  Captain  Cuttwater. 

"  I  think  you  are  a  little  hard  on  him,  mamma,"  said  Ger- 
trude, "particularly  when  you  know  that,  as  a  rule,  he  always 
goes  to  church.  I  have  heard  you  say  yourself  what  an  excellent 
churchman  he  is." 

"  Young  men  change  sometimes,"   said  Mrs.  Woodward. 
"  Upon  my  word,  Bessy,  I  think  you  are  very  uncharitable 
this   fine    Sunday    morning,"    said    the    captain.      "  I  wonder 
how  you'll  feel  if  we  have  that  chapter  about  the  beam  and 
the  mote." 

Mrs.  Woodward  did  not  quite  like  being  scolded  by  her  uncle 
before  her  daughters,  but  she  said  nothing  further.  Katie,  how- 
ever, looked  daggers  at  the  old  man  from  out  her  big  bright 
eyes.  What  right  had  any  man,  were  he  ever  so  old,  ever  so 
much  an  uncle,  to  scold  her  mamma?  Katie  was  inclined  to 
join  her  mother  and  take  Harry  Norman's  side,  for  it  was  Harry 
Norman  who  owned  the  boat. 

They  were  now  at  the  church  door,  and  they  entered  without 
saying  anything  further.  Let  us  hope  that  charity,  which  sur- 
passeth  all  other  virtues,  guided  their  prayers  while  they  were 


THE  THKEE   KINGS.  113 


there,  and  filled  their  hearts.  In  the  mean  time  Alaric,  unoon- 
scious  how  he  had  been  attacked  and  how  defended,  worked  hard 
at  his  Tavistock  notes. 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  quite  right  in  this,  that  the  Commis- 
sioner of  the  Mines,  though  he  was  unable  to  find  time  to  go  to 
church,  did  find  time  to  saunter  about  with  the  girls  before  dinner. 
Was  it  to  be  expected  that  he  should  not  do  so  ?  for  what  other 
purpose  was  he  there  at  Hampton  ? 

They  were  all  very  serious  this  Sunday  afternoon,  and  Katie 
could  make  nothing  of  them.  She  and  Charley,  indeed,  went 
oflf  by  themselves  to  a  desert  island,  or  a  place  that  would  have 
been  a  desert  island  had  the  water  run  round  it,  and  there  built  stu- 
pendous palaces  and  laid  out  glorious  gardens.  Charley  was 
the  most  good-natured  of  men,  and  could  he  have  only  brought 
a  boat  with  him,  as  Harry  so  often  did,  he  would  soon  have  been 
first  favorite  with  Katie. 

"  It  shan't  be  at  all  like  Hampton  Court,"  said  Katie,  speak- 
ing of  the  new  abode  which  Charley  was  to  build  for  her. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Charley. 

"  Nor  yet  Buckingham  Palace." 

"No,"  said  Charley,  "I  think  we'll  have  it  Gothic." 

"  Gothic  !"  said  Katie,  looking  up  at  him  with  all  her  eyee. 
"  Will  Gothic  be  most  grand  ?     What's  Gothic  ?" 

Charley  began  to  consider.  "  Westminster  Abbey,"  said  he 
at  last. 

"  Oh — but,  Charley,  I  don't  want  a  church.  Is  the  Alhambra 
Gothic  ?" 

Charley  was  not  quite  sure,  but  thought  it  probably  was. 
They  decided,  therefore,  that  the  new  palace  should  be  built 
after  the  model  of  the  Alhambra. 

The  afternoon  was  but  dull  and  lugubrious  to  the  remainder 
of  the  party.  The  girls  seemed  to  feel  that  there  was  some- 
thing solemn  about  the  coming  competition  between  two  such 
dear  friends,  which  prevented  and  should  prevent  them  all 
from  being  merry.  Harry  perfectly  sympathised  in  the  feeling ; 
and  even  Alaric,  though  depressed  himself  by  no  melancholy 
forebodings,  was  at  any  rate  conscious  that  he  should  refrain 
from  any  apparent  anticipation  of  a  triumph.  They  all  went 
to  church  in  the  evening ;  but  even  this  amendment  in  Alaric's 
conduct  hardly  reconciled  him  to  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  all  be  very  clever  before  long,"  said  she, 
after  tea ;  "  but  really  I  don't  know  that  we  shall  be  any  the 
better  for  it.     Now  in  this  office  of  yours,  by  the  end  of  next 


114  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

week,  there  will  be  three  or  four  men  with  broken  hearts,  and 
there  will  be  one  triumphant  jackanapes,  so  conceited  and 
proud,  that  he'll  never  bring  himself  to  do  another  good 
ordinary  day's  work  as  long  as  he  lives.  Nothing  will  persuade 
me  but  that  it  is  not  only  very  bad,  but  very  unjust  also." 

"  The  jackanapes  must  learn  to  put  up  with  ordinary  work," 
said  Alaric,  "  or  he'll  soon  find  himself  reduced  to  his  former 
insignificance." 

"  And  the  men  with  the  broken  hearts ;  they,  I  suppose, 
must  put  up  with  their  wretchedness  too,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward  ; 
"  and  their  wives,  also,  and  children,  who  have  been  looking 
forward  for  years  to  this  vacancy  as  the  period  of  their  lives  at 
which  they  are  to  begin  to  be  comfortable.  I  hate  such  heart- 
lessness.     I  hate  the  very  name  of  Sir  Grego^f-Hardlines."^ 

"  But,  mamma,  won't  the  general  effect  be  to  produce  a 
much  higher  class  of  education  among  the  men  ?"  said 
Gertrude. 

"  In  the  army  and  navy  the  best  men  get  on  the  best,"  said 
Linda. 

"  Do  they,  by  jingo  ^"  -saidJIncle  Bat.  "  It's  very  little  you 
know  about  the  navy.  Miss  Linda." 

"  Well,  then,  at  any  rate  they  ought,"  said  Linda. 

"  I  would  have  a  competitive  examination  in  every  service," 
said  Gertrude.  "  It  would  make  young  men  ambitious.  They 
would  not  be  so  idle  and  empty  as  they  now  are,  if  they  had 
to  contend  in  this  way  for  every  step  upwards  in  the  world." 

"  The  world,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  will  soon  be  like  a  fish- 
pond, very  full  of  fish,  but  with  very  little  food  for  them. 
Every  one  is  scrambling  for  the  other's  prey,  and  they  will  end 
at  last  by  eating  one  another.  If  Harry  gets  this  situation,  w^ill 
not  that  unfortunate  JoneSj^who  for  years  has  been  waiting  for 
it,  always  regard  him  as  a  robber?" 

"  My  maxim  is  this,"  said  Uncle  Bat ;  "  if  a  youngster  goes 
into  any  service,  say  the  navy,  and  does  his  duty  by  his  country 
like  a  man,  why,  he  shouldn't  be  passed  over.  Now  look  at 
me;  I  was  on  the  books  of  the  Catamaran,  one  of  the  old 
seventy-fours,  in  '96  ;  I  did  my  duty  then  and  always ;  was 
never  in  the  black  book  or  laid  up  sick ;  was  always  rough  and 
ready  for  any  work  that  came  to  hand  ;  and  wdien  I  went  into 
the  Mudlark  as  lieutenant  in  year  '9,  little  Bobby  Howard  had 
just  joined  the  old  Cat  as  a  young  middy.  And  where  am  I  now  ? 
and  where  is  Bobby  Howard  ?  Why,  d — e,  I'm  on  the  shelf, 
craving  the  ladies'  pardon  ;  and  he's  a  Lord  of  the  Admiralty, 


THE   THREE   KINGS.  115 

if  you  please,  and  a  Member  of  Parliament.  Now  I  say  Cutt- 
water's  as  good  a  name  as  Iloward  for  going  to  sea  with  any 
day ;  and  if  tliere'd  been  a  competitive  examination  for  Admi- 
ralty Lords  five  years  ago,  Bobby  Howard  would  never  Lave 
been  where  he  is  now,  and  somebody  else  who  knows  more 
about  his  profession  than  all  the  Howards  put  together,  might 
perhaps  have  been  in  his  place.  And  so,  my  lads,  here's  to 
you,  and  I  hope  the  best  man  will  win." 

Whether  Uncle  Bat  agreed  with  his  niece  or  with  his  grand- 
nieces  w^as  not  very  apparent  from  the  line  of  his  argument ; 
but  they  all  laughed  at  his  eagerness,  and  nothing  more  was 
said  that  evening  about  the  matter. 

Alaric,  Harry,  and  Charley,  of  course  returned  to  town  on 
the  following  day.  Breakfast  on  Monday  morning  at  Surbiton 
Cottage  was  an  early  affair  when  the  young  men  were  there ; 
so  early,  that  Captain  Cuttwater  did  not  make  his  appearance. 
Since  his  arrival  at  the  cottage,  Mrs.  Woodward  had  found  an 
excuse  for  a  later  breakfast  in  the  necessity  of  taking  it  with 
her  uncle ;  so  that  the  young  people  were  generally  left  alone. 
Linda  was  the  family  tea-maker,  and  was,  therefore,  earliest 
down ;  and  Alaric  being  the  first  on  this  morning  to  leave  the 
hotel,  found  her  alone  in  the  dining-room. 

He  had  never  renewed  the  disclosure  of  his  passion ;  but 
Linda  had  thought  that  whenever  he  shook  hands  with  her 
since  that  memorable  walk,  she  had  always  felt  a  more  than 
ordinary  pressure.  This  she  had  been  careful  not  to  return, 
but  she  had  not  the  heart  to  rebuke  it.  Now,  when  he  bade 
her  good  morning,  he  certainly  held  her  hand  in  his  longer  than 
he  need  have  done.  He  looked  at  her  too,  as  though  his  looks 
meant  something  more  than  ordinary  looking ;  at  least  so  Linda 
thought ;  but  yet  he  said  nothing,  and  so  Linda,  slightly 
trembling,  went  on  with  the  adjustment  of  her  tea-tray. 
.  "  It  will  be  all  over,  Linda,  when  we  meet  again,"  said  Alaric. 
His  mind,  she  found,  was  intent  on  his  examination,  not  on  his 
love.  But  this  was  natural,  was  as  it  should  be.  If — and  she 
was  certain  in  her  heart  that  it  would  be  so — if  he  should  be 
successful,  then  he  might  speak  of  love  without  having  to  speak 
in  the  same  breath  of  poverty  as  well.  "  It  will  be  all  over 
when  we  meet  again,"  he  said. 

"  I  suppose  it  will,"  said  Linda. 

"  I  don't  at  all  like  it;  it  seems  so  unnatural  having  to  contend 
against  one's  friend.  And  yet  one  cannot  help  it ;  one  cannot 
allow  one's  self  to  2:0  to  the  wall." 


116  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"  I  'm  sure  Harry  doesn't  mind  it,"  said  Linda. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  do,"  said  he.  "  If  I  fail  I  shall  be  unhappy,  and 
if  I  succeed  I  shall  be  equally  so.  I  shall  set  all  the  world 
against  me.  I  know  what  your  mother  meant  when  she  talked 
of  a  jackanapes  yesterday.  If  I  get  the  promotion  I  may  wish 
good-bye  to  Surbiton  Cottage." 

"Oh,  Alaric!" 

"  Harry  would  forgive  me  ;  but  Harry's  friends  would  never 
do  so." 

"  How  can  yon  say  so  ?  I  am  sure  mamma  has  no  such  feel- 
ing, nor  yet  even  Gertrude ;  I  mean  that  none  of  us  have." 

"  It  is  very  natural  all  of  you  should,  for  he  is  your  cousin." 

"You  are  just  the  same  as  our  cousin.  I  am  sure  we  think 
quite  as  much  of  you  as  of  Harry.  Even  Gertrude  said  she 
hoped  that  you  would  get  it." 

"Dear  Gertrude!" 

"  Because  you  know  Harry  does  not  want  it  so  much  as  you 
do.  I  am  sure  I  wish  you  success  with  all  my  heart.  Perhaps 
it's  wicked  to  wish  for  either  of  you  over  the  other ;  but  you 
can't  both  get  it  at  once,  you  know." 

At  this  moment  Katie  came  in,  and  soon  afterwards  Gertrude 
and  the  two  other  young  men,  and  so  nothing  further  was  said 
on  the  subject. 

Charley  parted  with  the  competitors  at  the  corner  of  Waterloo 
Bridge.  He  turned  into  Somerset  House,  being  there  regarded 
on  these  Monday  mornings  as  a  prodigy  of  punctuality ;  and 
Alaric  and  Harry  walked  back  along  the  Strand,  arm-in-arm, 
toward  their  own  office. 

"Well,  lads,  I  hope  you'll  both  win,"  said  Charley.  "And 
whichever  wins  most,  why  of  course  he  '11  stand  an  uncommon 
good  dinner." 

"  Oh  !  that's  of  course,"  said  Alaric.  "  We  '11  have  it  at  the 
Trafalgar." 

And  so  the  two  walked  on  together,  arm-in-arm,  to  the 
Weights  and  Measures. 

The  ceremony  which  was  now  about  to  take  place  at  the 
Weights  and  Measures  was  ordained  to  be  the  first  of  those 
examinations  which,  under  the  auspices  of  Sir  Gregory  Ilard- 
lines,  were  destined  to  revivify,  clarify,  and  render  perfect  the 
Civil  Service  of  the  country.  It  was  a  great  triumph  to  Sir 
Gregory  to  see  the  darling  object  of  his  heart  thus  commencing 
its  existence  in  the  very  cradle  in  which  he,  as  an  infant  Hercu- 
les, had  made  his  first  exertions  in  the  cause.     It  was  to  be  his 


THE  THREE   KINGS.  117 

future  fortune  to  superintend  these  intellectual  contests  in  a 
stately  office  of  bis  own,  duly  set  apart  and  appointed  for  the 
purpose.  But  the  throne  on  which  he  was  to  sit  had  not  yet 
been  prepared  for  him,  and  he  was  at  present  constrained  to 
content  himself  with  exercising  bis  power,  now  here  and  now 
there,  according  as  his  services  might  be  required,  carrying  the 
appurtenances  of  his  royalty  about  with  him. 

But  Sir  Gregory  was  not  a  solitary  monarch.  In  days  long 
gone  by  there  Avere,  as  we  all  know^,  three  kings  at  Cologne, 
and  again  three  kings  at  Brentford.  So  also  were  there  three 
kings  at  the  Civil  Service  Examination  Board.  But  of  these 
three  Sir  Gregory  was  by  far  the  greatest  king.  He  sat  in  the 
middle,  had  two  thousand  jewels  to  his  crown,  whereas  the 
others  had  only  twelve  hundred  each,  and  his  name  ran  first  in 
all  the  royal  warrants.  Nevertheless,  Sir  Gregory,  could  he  have 
had  it  so,  would,  like  most  other  kings,  have  preferred  an  undi- 
vided sceptre. 

Of  his  co-mates  on  the  throne  the  elder  in  rank  was  a  west 
country  baronet,  who,  not  content  with  fatting  beeves  and  brew- 
ing beer  like  his  sires,  aspired  to  do  something  for  his  country. 
Sir  Warwick  Westend  was  an  excellent  man,  full  of  the  best 
intentions,  and  not  more  than  decently  anxious  to  get  the  good 
things  of  Government  into  his  hand.  He  was,  perhaps,  rather 
too  much  inclined  to  think  that  he  could  see  further  through  a 
millstone  than  another,  and  had  a  way  of  looking  as  though  he 
were  always  making  the  attempt.  He  was  a  man  born  to 
grace,  if  not  his  country,  at  any  rate  his  county ;  and  his  con- 
duct was  uniformly  such  as  to  afi'ord  the  liveliest  satisfaction  to 
his  uncles,  aunts,  and  relations  in  general.  If  as  a  king  he  had 
a  fault,  it  was  this,  that  he  allowed  that  other  king.  Sir  Gregory, 
to  carry  him  in  his  pocket. 

But  Sir  Gregory  could  not  at  all  get  the  third  king  into  his 
pocket.  This  gentleman  was  a  worthy  clergyman  from  Cam- 
bridge, one  Mr.  Jobbles  by  name.  Mr.  Jobbles  had  for  many 
years  been  examining  undergraduates  for  little  goes  and  great 
goes,  and  had  passed  his  life  in  putting  posing  questions,  in 
detecting  ignorance  by  viva  voce  scrutiny,  and  eliciting  learning 
by  printed  papers.  He,  by  a  stupendous  effort  of  his  mathe- 
matical mind,  had  divided  the  adult  British  male  world  into 
classes  and  sub-classes,  and  could  tell  at  a  moment's  notice  how 
long  it  would  take  him  to  examine  them  all.  His  soul  panted 
for  the  work.  Every  man  should,  he  thought,  be  made  to  pass 
through  some  "go."     The  greengrocer's  boy  should  not  carry 


118  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

out  cabbages  unless  his  fitness  for  cabbage  carrying  bad  been 
ascertained,  and  till  it  bad  also  been  ascertained  that  no  other 
boy,  ambitious  of  the  preferment,  would  carry  them  better. 
Difficulty !  There  was  ^no  difficulty.  Could  not  he,  Jobbles, 
get  through  5,000  vivd  voces  in  every  five  hours — that  is,  with 
due  assistance?  and  would  not  55,000  printed  papers,  contain- 
ing 555,000  questions,  be  getting  themselves  answered  at  the 
same  time,  with  more  or  less  precision  ? 

So  now  Mr.  Jobbles  was  about  to  try  his  huge  plan  by  a 
small  commencement. 

On  the  present  occasion  the  examination  was  actually  to  be 
carried  on  by  two  of  the  kings  in  person.  Sir  Gregory  had 
declared  that  as  so  large  a  portion  of  his  heart  and  affections 
was  bound  up  with  the  gentlemen  of  the  Weights  and  Measures, 
he  could  not  bring  himself  actually  to  ask  questions  of  them, 
and  then  to  listen  to  or  read  their  answers.  Should  any  of  his 
loved  ones  make  some  fatal  faux  'pas^  his  tears,  like  those  of  the 
recording  angel,  would  blot  out  the  error.  His  eyes  would 
refuse  to  see  faults,  if  there  should  be  faults,  in  those  whom  he 
himself  had  nurtured.  Therefore,  though  he  came  with  his 
colleagues  to  the  Weights  and  Measures,  he  did  not  himself  take 
part  in  the  examination. 

At  11  o'clock  the  Board-room  was  opened,  and  the  candi- 
dates walked  in  and  seated  themselves.  Fear  of  Sir  Gregory, 
and  other  causes,  had  thinned  the  number.  Poor  Jones,  who 
by  right  of  seniority  should  have  had  the  prize,  declined  to  put 
himself  in  competition  with  his  juniors,  and  in  lieu  thereof  sent 
up  to  the  Lords  of  the  Treasury  an  awful  memorial  spread  over 
fifteen  folio  pages — very  uselessly.  The  Lords  of  the  Treasury 
referred  it  to  the  three  kings,  whose  secretary  put  a  minute 
upon  it.  Sir  Gregory  signed  the  minute,  and  some  gentleman 
at  the  Treasury  wrote  a  short  letter  to  Mr.  Jones,  apprising 
that  unhappy  gentleman  that  my  Lords  had  taken  the  matter 
into  their  fullest  consideration,  and  that  nothing  could  be  done 
to  help  him.  Had  Jones  been  consulted  by  any  other  disap- 
pointed Civil  Service  AVerter  as  to  the  expediency  of  complain- 
ing to  the  Treasury  Lords,  Jones  would  have  told  him  exactly 
what  would  be  the  result.  The  disappointed  one,  however, 
always  thinks  that  all  the  Treasury  Lords  will  give  all  their 
ears  to  him,  though  they  are  deafer  than  Icarus  to  the  world 
beside. 

Robinson  stood  his  ground  like  a  man  ;  but  Brown  found 
out,  a  day  or  two  before  the  struggle  came,  that  he  could  not 


THE  THREE   KINGS.  119 

bring  himself  to  stand  against  Lis  friend.  Jones,  lie  said,  he 
knew  was  incompetent,  but  Robinson  ought  to  get  it ;  so  he,  for 
one,  would  not  stand  in  Robinson's  way. 

Uppinall  was  there,  as  confident  as  a  bantam  cock ;  and  so 
was  Alphabet  "Frecis,  who  had  declared  to  all  his  friends  that  if 
the  pure  well  of  official  English  undefiled  \vas  to  count  for  any- 
thing, he  ought  to  be  pretty  safe.  But  poor  Minusex  was  ill, 
and  sent  a  certificate.  He  had  so  crammed  himself  with 
unknown  quantities,  that  his  mind — like  a  gourmand's  stom- 
ach— had  broken  down  under  the  effort,  and  he  was  now 
sobbing  out  algebraic  positions  under  his  counterpane. 

Norman  and  Alaric  made  up  the  five  who  still  had  health, 
strength,  and  pluck  to  face  the  stern  justice  of  the  new  kings ; 
and  they  accordingly  took  their  seats  on  five  chairs,  equally 
distant,  placing  themselves  in  due  order  of  seniority. 

And  then,  first  of  all.  Sir  Gregory  made  a  little  speech,  stand- 
ing up  at  the  head  of  the  Board-room  table,  with  an  attendant 
king  on  either  hand,  and  the  Secretary,  and  two  Assistant- 
Secretaries,  standing  near  him.  Was  not  this  a  proud  moment 
for  Sir  Gregory  ?" 

"  It  had  now  become  his  duty,"  he  said,  "  to  take  his  position 
in  that  room,  that  well-known,  well-loved  room,  under  circum- 
stances of  which  he  had  little  dreamt  when  he  first  entered  it 
with  awe-struck  steps,  in  the  days  of  his  early  youth.  But, 
nevertheless,  even  then  ambition  had  warmed  him.  That 
ambition  had  been  to  devote  every  eliergy  of  his  mind,  every 
muscle  of  his  body,  every  hour  of  his  life,  to  the  Civil  Service 
of  his  country.  It  was  not  much,  perhaps,  that  he  had  been 
able  to  do ;  he  could  not  boast  of  those  acute  powers  of  mind, 
of  that  gigantic  grasp  of  intellect,  of  v/hich  they  saw  in  those 
days  so  wonderful  an  example  in  a  high  place."  Sir  Gregory 
here  gratefully  alluded  to  that  statesman  who  had  given  him 
his  present  appointment.  "But  still  he  had  devoted  all  his 
mind,  such  as  it  was,  and  every  hour  of  his  life,  to  the  service ; 
and  now  he  had  his  reward.  If  he  might  be  allowed  to  give 
advice  to  the  gentlemen  before  him,  gentlemen  of  Avhose  admir- 
able qualifications  for  the  Civil  Service  of  the  country  he 
himself  was  so  well  aware,  his  advice  should  be  this — That  they 
should  look  on  none  of  their  energies  as  applicable  to  private 
purposes,  regard  none  of  their  hours  as  their  own.  They  were 
devoted  in  a  peculiar  way  to  the  Civil  Service,  and  they  should 
feel  that  such  was  their  lot  in  life.  They  should  know  that 
their  intellects  were  a  sacred  pledge  intrusted  to  them  for  tho 


120  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

good  of  tliat  service,  and  should  use  tliem  accordingly.  This 
should  be  their  highest  ambition.  And  what  higher  ambi- 
tion," asked  Sir  Gregory,  "could  they  have?  They  all,  alas! 
knew  that  the  service  had  been  disgraced  in  other  quarters  by 
idleness,  incompetency,  and,  he  feared  he  must  say,  dishonesty ; 
till  incompetency  and  dishonesty  had  become,  not  the  exception, 
but  the  rule.  It  was  too  notorious  that  the  Civil  Service  w^as 
filled  by  the  family  fools  of  the  aristocracy  and  middle  classes, 
and  that  any  family  who  had  no  fool  to  send,  sent  in  lieu 
thereof  some  invalid  past  hope.  Thus  the  service  had  become 
a  hospital  for  incurables  and  idiots.  It  was,"  said  Sir  Gregory, 
"  for  him  and  them  to  cure  all  that.  He  would  not,"  he  said, 
"  at  that  moment,  say  anything  with  reference  to  salaries.  It 
was,  as  they  were  all  aware,  a  very  difficult  subject,  and  did  not 
seem  to  be  necessarily  connected  with  the  few  remarks  which 
the  present  opportunity  had  seemed  to  him  to  call  for."  He 
then  told  them  they  were  all  his  beloved  children  ;  that  they 
were  a  credit  to  the  establishment ;  that  he  handed  them  over 
without  a  blush  to  his  excellent  colleagues.  Sir  Warwick 
Westend  and  Mr.  Jobbles,  and  that  he  wished  in  his  heart  that 
each  of  them  could  be  successful.  And  having  so  spoken,  Sir 
Gregory  went  his  way. 

It  was  beautiful  then  to  see  how  Mr.  Jobbles  swam  down  the 
long  room  and  handed  out  his  examination  papers  to  the  differ- 
ent candidates,  as  he  passed  them.  'Twas  a  pity  there  should 
have  been  but  five  ;  the  man  did  it  so  well,  so  quickly,  with  such 
a  gusto  !  He  should  have  been  allowed  to  try  his  hand  upon 
five  hundred,  instead  of  five.  His  step  was  so  rapid,  and  his 
hand  and  arm  moved  so  dexterously,  that  no  conceivable  num- 
ber would  have  been  too  many  for  him.  But,  even  with  five, 
he  showed  at  once  that  the  right  man  was  in  the  right  place. 
Mr.  Jobbles  was  created  for  the  conducting  of  examinations. 

And  then  the  five  candidates,  who  had  hitherto  been  all  ears, 
of  a  sudden  became  all  eyes,  and  devoted  themselves  in  a  manner 
which  would  have  been  delightful  to  Sir  Gregory,  to  the  papers 
before  them.  Sir  Warwick,  in  the  mean  time,  was  seated  in  his 
chair,  hard  at  work  looking  through  his  millstone. 

It  was  a  dreadful  task,  that  of  answering  examination  papers  : 
only  to  be  exceeded  in  dreadfulness  by  the  horrors  of  Mr.  Job- 
bles' viva  voce  torments.  A  man  has  before  him  a  string  of 
questions,  and  he  looks  painfully  down  them,  from  question  to 
question,  searching  for  some  allusion  to  that  special  knowledge 
which  he  has  within  him.     He  too  often  finds  that  no  such  allu- 


THE  THREE   KINGS.  121 

sion  is  made.  It  appears  that  the  Jobbles  of  the  occasion  has 
exactly  known  the  blank  spots  of  his  mind,  and  fitted  them  all. 
He  has  perhaps  crammed  himself  with  the  winds  and  tides,  and 
there  is  no  more  reference  to  those  stormy  subjects  than  if  Luna 
were  extinct ;  but  he  has,  unfortunately,  been  loose  about  his 
botan}^  and  question  after  question  would  appear  to  him  to  have 
been  dictated  by  Sir  Joseph  Paxton  or  tlie  head-gardener  at  Kew. 
And  then  to  his  own  blank  face  and  puzzled  look  is  opposed  the 
fast  scribbling  of  some  botanic  candidate,  fast  as  though  reams 
of  folio  could  hardly  contain  all  the  knowledge  which  he  is 
able  to  pour  forth. 

And  so  with  a  mixture  of  fast-scribbling  pens  and  blank  faces, 
our  five  friends  went  to  work.  The  examination  lasted  for  four 
days,  and  it  was  arranged  that  on  each  of  the  four  days  each  of 
the  five  candidates  should  be  called  up  to  undergo  a  certain 
quantum  of  Mr.  Jobbles'  viva  voce.  This  part  of  his  duty  Mr. 
Jobbles  performed  with  a  mildness  of  manner  that  was  beyond 
all  praise.  A  mother  training  her  first-born  to  say  "  papa,"  could 
not  do  so  with  a  softer  voice,  or  more  affectionate  demeanor. 

"  The  planet  Jupiter,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Precis  ;  "  I  have  no 
doubt  you  know  accurately  the  computed  distance  of  that  planet 
from  the  sun,  and  also  that  of  our  own  planet.  Could  you  tell 
me  now,  how  would  you  calculate  the  distance  in  inches,  say 
from  London  Bridge  to  the  nearest  portion  of  Jupiter's  disc,  at 
twelve  o'clock  on  the  1st  of  April?"  Mr.  Jobbles,  as  he  put  his 
little  question,  smiled  the  sweetest  of  smiles,  and  spoke  in  a  tone 
conciliating  and  gentle,  as  though  he  were  asking  Mr.  Precis  to 
dine  with  him  and  take  part  of  a  bottle  of  claret  at  half-past  six. 

But,  nevertheless,  Mr.  Precis  looked  very  blank. 

"  I  am  not  asking  the  distance,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Jobbles, 
smiling  sweeter  than  ever  ;  "  I  am  only  asking  how  you  would 
compute  it." 

But  still  Mr.  Precis  looked  exceedingly  blank. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Jobbles,  with  all  the  encouragement 
which  his  voice  could  give,  "  never  mind.  Now,  suppose  that 
a  be  a  mile-stone,  b  a  turnpike  gate ,"  and  so  on. 

But  Mr.  Jobbles,  in  spite  of  his  smiles,  so  awed  the  hearts  of 
some  of  his  candidates,  that  two  of  them  retired  at  the  end  of 
the  second  day.  Poor  Ptobinson,  thinking,  and  not  without 
suflflcient  ground,  that  he  had  not  a  ghost  of  a  chance,  deter- 
mined to  save  himself  from  further  annoyance ;  and  then  Nor- 
man, put  utterly  out  of  conceit  with  himself  by  what  he  deemed 
the  iusuflSciency  of  his  answers,  did  the  same.     He  had  become 

6 


122  TUE   THKEE   CLERKS. 

low  in  spirits,  unhappy  in  temperament,  and  self-diffident  to  a 
painful  degree.  Alaric,  to  give  him  his  due,  did  everything  in  his 
power  to  persuade  him  to  see  the  task  out  to  the  last.  But  the 
assurance  and  composure  of  Alaric's  manner  did  more  than  any- 
thing else  to  provoke  and  increase  Norman's  discomfiture.  He 
had  been  schooling  himself  to  bear  a  beating  with  a  good  grace, 
and  he  began  to  find  that  he  could  only  bear  it  as  a  disgrace. 
On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  instead  of  taking  his  place  in 
the  Board-room,  he  sent  in  a  note  to  Mr.  Jobbles,  declaring  that 
he  withdrew  from  the  trial.  Mr.  Jobbles  read  the  note,  and 
smiled  with  satisfaction  as  he  put  it  into  his  pocket.  It  was  an 
acknowledgment  T)f  his  own  unrivalled  powers  as  an  Examiner. 

Mr.  Precis,  still  trusting  to  his  pure  well,  went  on  to  the  end, 
and  at  the  end  declared  that  so  ignorant  was  Mr.  Jobbles  of  his 
duty  that  he  had  given  them  no  opportunity  of  showing  what 
they  could  do  in  English  composition.  Why  had  he  not  put 
before  th(^n  the  papers  in  some  memorable  official  case,  and 
desired  them  to  make  an  abstract ;  those,  for  instance,  on  the 
much-vexed  question  of  penny  versus  pound,  as  touching  the 
new  standard  for  the  decimal  coinage  ?  Mr.  Jobbles  an  Exami- 
ner indeed !  And  so  Mr.  Precis  bethought  himself  that  he  also, 
if  unsuccessful,  would  go  to  the  Lords  of  the  Treasury. 

And  Mr.  Uppinall  and  Alaric  Tudor  also  went  on.  Those 
who  knew  anything  of  the  matter,  when  they  saw  how  the 
running  horses  were  reduced  in  number,  and  what  horses  were 
left  on  the  course — when  they  observed  also  how  each  steed 
came  to  the  post  on  each  succeeding  morning,  had  no  doubt 
whatever  of  the  result.  So  that  when  Alaric  was  declared  on 
the  Saturday  morning  to  have  gained  the  prize,  there  was  very 
little  astonishment  either  felt  or  expressed  at  the  Weights  and 
Measures. 

Alaric's  juniors  wished  him  joy  with  some  show  of  reality  in 
their  manner;  but  the  congratulations  of  his  seniors,  including 
the  Secretary  and  Assistant  Secretaries,  the  new  Chief  Clerk, 
and  the  men  in  the  class  to  which  he  was  now  promoted,  were 
very  cold  indeed.  But  to  this  he  was  indiff'erent.  It  was  the 
nature  of  Tudor's  disposition,  that  he  never  for  a  moment  rested 
satisfied  with  the  round  of  the  ladder  on  which  he  had  contrived 
to  place  himself.  lie  had  no  sooner  gained  a  step  than  he 
looked  upwards  to  see  how  the  next  step  was  to  be  achieved. 
His  motto  might  well  have  been  "  Excelsior !"  if  only  he  could 
have  taught  himself  to  look  to  heights  that  were  really  high. 
When  he  found  that  the  august  Secretary  received  him  on  hi.^^ 


CONSOLATION.  123 

promotion  without  much  empressement,  he  comforted  liimself  by 
calculating  ho\Y  long  it  would  be  before  he  should  fill  that 
Secretary's  chair — if  indeed  it  should  ever  be  worth  his  while  to 
fill  it. 

The  Secretary  at  the  Weights  and  Measures  had,  after  all, 
but  a  dull  time  of  it,  and  was  precluded  by  the  routine  of  his 
office  from  parliamentary  ambition  and  the  joys  of  government. 
Alaric  was  already  beginning  to  think  that  this  Weights  and 
Measures  should  only  be  a  stepping-stone  to  him ;  and  that 
when  Sir  Gregory  with  his  stern  dogma  of  devotion  to  the  service 
had  been  of  sufficient  use  to  him,  he  also  might  with  advantage 
be  thrown  over.  In  the  mean  time  an  income  of  600/  a-year 
brought  with  it  to  the  young  bachelor  some  very  comfortable 
influence.  But  the  warmest  and  the  pleasantest  of  all  the  con- 
gratulations which  he  received,  was  from  his  dear  friend  Undy 
Scott. 

"  Ah,  my  boy,"  said  Undy,  pressing  his  hand,  "  you  '11  soon 
be  one  of  us.  By  the  by,  I  want  to  put  you  up  for  the 'Downing  ; 
you  should  leave  that  Pythagorean ;  there 's  nothing  to  be  got 
by  it." 

Now,  the  Downing  was  a  political  club  ;  in  which,  however, 
politics  had  latterly  become  a  good  deal  mixed.  But  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  day  generally  found  there  a  liberal  support,  and 
recognised  and  acknowledged  its  claim  to  consideration. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CONSOLATION. 


On  the  following  Sunday,  neither  Tudor  nor  Norman  was 
at  Hampton.  They  had  both  felt  that  they  could  not  comfort- 
ably meet  each  other  there,  and  each  had  declined  to  go.  They 
had  promised  to  write ;  and  now  that  the  matter  was  decided, 
how  were  they  or  either  of  them  to  keep  the  promise  ? 

It  may  be  thought  that  the  bitterness  of  the  moment  was 
over  with  Norman  as  soon  as  he  gave  up  ;  but  such  was  not  the 
case.  Let  him  struggle  as  he  would  with  himself,  he  could  not 
rally,  nor  bring  himself  to  feel  happy  on  what  had  occurred. 
He  would  have  been  better  satisfied  if  Alaric  would  have 
triumphed  ;  but  Alaric  seemed  to  take  it  all  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  never  spoke  of  his  owm  promotion,  unless  he  did  so 
in  answer  to  some  remark  of  his  companion  ;  then  he  could 
speak  easily  enough  ;  otherwise  he  was  willing  to  let  the  matter 


124  THE  THREE   CLERKS* 

go  by  as  one  settled  and  at  rest.  He  had  consulted  Norman 
about  the  purchase  of  a  horse,  but  he  hitherto  had  shown  no 
other  sign  that  he  was  a  richer  man  than  formerly. 

It  was  a  very  bitter  time  for  Norman.  He  could  not  divest 
his  mind  of  the  subject.  What  was  he  to  do?  Where  was  he 
to  go  ?  How  was  he  to  get  away,  even  for  a  time,  from  Alaric 
Tudor?  And  then,  was  he  right  in  wishing  to  get  away  from 
him  ?  Had  he  not  told  himself,  over  and  over  again,  that  it 
behoved  him  as  a  man  and  a  friend  and  a  Christian  to  conquer 
the  bitter  feeling  of  env}^  which  preyed  on  his  spirits  ?  Had 
he  not  himself  counselled  Alaric  to  stand  this  examination? 
and  had  he  not  promised  that  his  doing  so  should  make  no 
difference  in  their  friendship  ?  Had  he  not  pledged  himself  to 
rejoice  in  the  success  of  his  friend  ?  and  now  was  he  to  break 
his  word  both  to  that  friend  and  to  himself? 

Schooling  himself,  or  trying  to  school  himself  in  this  w5y, 
he  made  no  attempt  at  escaping  from  his  unhappiness.  They 
passed  the  Wednesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday  evenings 
together.  It  was  now  nearly  the  end  of  September,  and 
London  was  empty ;  that  is,  empty  as  regards  those  friends 
and  acquaintances  with  whom  Norman  might  have  found  some 
resource.  On  the  Saturday  they  left  their  office  early  ;  for  all 
office  routine  had,  during  this  week,  been  broken  through  by 
the  immense  importance  of  the  ceremony  which  was  going 
on  ;  and  then  it  became  necessary*  to  write  to  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward. 

"  Will  you  write  to  Hampton  or  shall  I  ?  "  said  Alaric  as  they 
walked  arm-in-arm  under  the  windows  of  Whitehall. 

"  Oh  !  you  of  course,"  said  Norman ;  "  You  have  much  to 
tell  them ;  I  have  nothing." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  said  the  other.  "That  is,  of  course  I 
will  if  you  like  it.  But  I  think  it  would  come  better  from  you. 
You  are  nearer  to  them  than  I  am ;  and  it  will  have  less  a  look 
of  triumph  on  my  part,  and  less  also  of  disappointment  on  yours, 
if  you  write.  If  you  tell  them  that  you  literally  threw  away 
your  chance,  you  will  only  tell  them  the  truth." 

Norman  assented,  but  he  said  nothing  further.  What 
business  had  Alaric  to  utter  such  words  as  triumph  and  disap- 
pointment ?  He  could  not  keep  his  arm,  on  which  Alaric  was 
leaning,  from  spasmodically'  shrinking  from  the  touch.  He, 
had  been  beaten  by  a  man,  nay  worse,  had  yielded  to  a  man, 
who  had  not  the  common  honesty4a-r^fnse  a  bribe  ;  and  yet 
he  was  bound  to  love  this  man.     He  coi^d  not  help  asking 


CONSOLATION.  125 

himself  the  question  which  he  would  do.     Would  he  love  him 
or  hate  him  ? 

But  while  he  was  so  questioning  himself,  he  got  home,  and 
had  to  sit  down  and  wi'ite  his  letter — this  he  did  at  once,  but 
not  without  difficulty.     It  ran  as  follows : — 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Woodward, — 

"  I  write  a  line  to  tell  you  of  my  discomfiture  and 
Alaric's  success.  I  gave  up  at  the  end  of  the  second  day.  Of 
course  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  when  we  meet.  No  one 
seemed  to  doubt  that  Alaric  would  get  it,  as  a  matter  of  course. 
I  shall  be  with  you  on  next  Saturday.  Alaric  says  he  will  not 
go  down  till  the  Saturday  after,  when  I  shall  be  at  Normans- 
grove.  My  best  love  to  the  girls.  Tell  Katie  I  shan't  drown 
either  myself  or  the  boat. 

"  Yours  ever  affectionately, 

"N.  H. 
t' Saturday,  September,  18  5-. 
I  "  Pray  write  me  a  kind  letter  to  comfort  me." 

Mrs.  Woodward  did  write  him  a  very  kind  letter,  and  it  did 
comfort  him.  And  she  wrote  also,  as  she  was  bound  to  do,  a 
letter  of  congratulation  to  Alaric.  This  letter,  though  it 
expressed  in  the  usual  terms  the  satisfaction  which  one  friend 
has  in  another's  welfare,  was  not  written  in  the  same  warm 
affectionate  tone  as  that  to  Norman.  Alaric  perceived  instantly 
that  it  was  not  cordial.  He  loved  Mrs.  Woodward  dearly,  and 
greatly  desired  her  love  and  sympathy.  But  what  then  ?  He 
could  not  have  everything.  He  determined,  therefore,  not  to 
trouble  his  mind.  If  Mrs.  Woodward  did  not  sympathise  with 
him,  others  of  the  family  would  do  so ;  and  success  would 
ultimately  bring  her  round.  What  woman  ever  yet  refused  to 
sympathise  with  successful  ambition  ? 

Alaric  also  received  a  letter  from  Captain  Cuttwater,  in  which 
that  gallant  veteran  expressed  his  great  joy  at  the  result  of  the 
examination — "  Let  the  best  man  win  all  the  world  over,"  said 
he,  "  whatever  his  name  is.  And  they'll  have  to  make  the  same 
rule  at  the  Admiralty  too.  The  days  of  the  Howards  are  gone 
by  ;  that  is,  unless  they  can  prove  themselves  able  seamen,  which 
very  few  of  them  ever  did  yet.  Let  the  best  man  win  ;  that's 
what  I  say  ;  and  let  every  man  get  his  fair  share  of  promotion." 
Alaric  did  not  despise  the  sympathy  of  Captain  Cuttwater.     It 


126  TnE  THEEE   CLEKKS. 

might  turn  out  that  even  Captain  Cuttwater  could  be  made 
of  use. 

Mrs.  Woodward's  letter  to  Harry  was  full  of  the  tenderest 
affection.  It  was  a  flattering,  soothing,  loving  letter,  such  as 
no  man  ever  could  have  written.  It  was  like  oil  poured  into 
his  wounds,  and  made  him  feel  that  the  world  was  not  all  harsh 
to  him.  He  had  determined  not  to  go  to  Hampton  that  Satur- 
day; but  Mrs.  AYoodward's  letter  almost  made  him  rush  there 
at  once  that  he  might  throw  himself  into  her  arms — into  her 
arms,  and  at  her  daughter's  feet.  The  time  had  now  come  to 
him  when  he  wanted  to  be  comforted  by  the  knowledge  that 
his  love  was  returned.  He  resolved  that  during  his  next  visit 
he  would  formally  propose  to  Gertrude. 

The  determination  to  do  this,  and  a  strong  hope  that  he 
might  do  it  successfully,  kept  him  up  during  the  interval.  On 
the  following  week  he  w^as  to  go  to  his  father's  place  to  shoot, 
having  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  a  month ;  and  he  felt  that 
he  could  still  enjoy  himself  if  he  could  take  with  him  the  con- 
viction that  all  was  right  at  Surbiton  Cottage.  Mrs.  Woodward, 
in  her  letter,  though  she  had  spoken  much  of  the  girls,  had 
said  nothing  special  about  Gertrude.  "Nevertheless,  Norman 
gathered  from  it  that  she  intended  that  he  should  go  thither  to 
look  for  comfort,  and  that  he  would  find  there  the  comfort  that 
he  required. 

And  Mrs.  Woodward  had  intended  that  such  should  be  the 
effect  of  her  letter.  It  w^as  at  present  the  dearest  wish  of  her 
heart  to  see  Norman  and  Gertrude -niarried.  That  Norman  had' 
often  declared  his  love  to  her  eldest  daughter  she  knew  very 
well,  and  she  knew  also  that  Gertrude  had  never  rejected  him. 
Having  perfect  confidence  in  her  child,  she  had  purposely 
abstained  from  saying  anything  that  could  bias  her  opinion. 
She  had  determined  to  leave  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the 
young  people  themselves,  judging  that  it  might  be  best  arranged 
as  a  true-love  match  between  them,  without  interference  from 
her ;  she  had  therefore  said  nothing  to  Gertrude  on  the  subject. 

Mrs.  Woodward,  however,  discovered  that  she  was  in  error, 
when  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  retrieve  her  mistake  ;  and,  indeed, 
had  she  discovered  it  before  that  letter  was  written,  what  could 
she  have  done  ?  She  could  not  have  forbidden  Harry  to  come 
to  her  house — she  could  not  have  warned  him  not  to  throw 
himself  at  her  daughter's  feet.  The  cup  was  prepared  for  his 
lips,  and  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  drink  of  it.  There 
was  nothing  for  which  she  could  blame  him  ;  nothing  for  which 


COXSOLATIOX.  127 

she  could  blame  herself;  nothinf^  for  which  she  did  blame  her 
daughter.  It  was  sorrowful,  pitiful,  to  be  lamented,  wept  for, 
ay,  and  groaned  for ;  many  inward  groans  it  cost  her ;  but  it 
was  at  any  rate  well  that  she  could  attribute  her  sorrow  to  the 
spite  of  circumstances  rather  than  to  the  ill-conduct  of  those 
she  loved. 

Nor  would  it  have  been  fair  to  blame  Gertrude  in  the  matter. 
While  she  was  yet  a  child,  this  friend  of  her  mother's  had  been 
thrown  with  her,  and  when  she  was  little  more  than  a  child, 
she  found  that  this  friend  had  become  a  lover.  She  liked  him, 
in  one  sense  loved  him,  and  was  accustomed  to  regard  him  as 
one  whom  it  would  be  almost  wrong  in  her  not  to  like  and  love. 
What  wonder  then  that  when  he  first  spoke  to  her  warm  words 
of  adoration,  she  had  not  been  able  at  once  to  know  her  own 
heart,  and  tell  him  that  his  hopes  would  be  in  vain  ? 

She  perceived  by  instinct,  rather  than  by  spoken  words,  that 
her  mother  was  favorable  to  this  young  lover,  that  if  she  accepted 
him  she  would  please  her  mother,  that  the  course  of  true  love 
might  in  their  case  run  smooth.  What  wonder  then  that  she 
should  have  hesitated  before  she  found  it  necessary  to  say  that 
she  could  not,  would  not,  be  Harry  Norman's  wife  ? 

On  the  Saturday  morning,  the  morning  of  that  night  which 
was,  as  he  hoped,  to  see  him  go  to  bed  a  happy  lover,  so  happy 
in  his  love  as  to  be  able  to  forget  his  other  sorrows,  she  was 
sitting  alone  with  her  mother.  It  was  natural  that  their  con- 
versation should  turn  to  Alaric  and  Harry.  Alaric,  with  his 
happy  prospects,  was  soon  dismissed ;  but  Mrs.  Woodward  con- 
tinued to  sing  the  praises  of  him  who,  had  she  been  potent  with 
the  magi  of  the  Civil  Service,  would  now  be  the  lion  of  the 
Weights  and  Measures. 

"  I  must  say  I  think  it  was  weak  of  him  to  retire,"  said  Ger- 
trude. "  Alaric  says  in  his  letter  to  Uncle  Bat,  that  had  he 
persevered  he  would  in  all  probability  have  been  successful." 

"I  should  rather  say  that  it  was  generous,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  mamma ;  that  of  course  depends  on 
his  motives  ;  but  wouldn't  generosity  of  that  sort  between  two 
young  men  in  such  a  position  be  absurd  ?" 

"  You  mean  that  such  regard  for  his  friend  would  be 
Quixotic." 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  Perhaps  it  would.  All  true  generosity,  all  noble  feeling, 
i§jiow_cailed J^iiixotic.  But  surely,  Gertrude,  you  and  I  should 
not  quarrel  with  Harry  on  that  account." 


128  THE   TIIEEE   CLERKS. 

"  I  think  lie  got  friglitened,  mamma,  aud  liad  not  nerve  to  go 
through  with  it." 

Mrs.  Woodward  looked  vexed ;  but  she  made  no  immediate 
reply,  and  for  some  time  the  mother  and  daughter  went  on 
working  without  further  conversation.     At  last  Gertrude  said — 

"  I  think  every  man  is  bound  to  do  the  best  he  can  for  him- 
self,— that  is,  honestly ;  there  is  something  spoony  in  one  man 
allowing  another  to  get  before  him,  as  long  as  he  can  manage 
to  be  first  himself," 

Mrs.  Woodward  did  not  like  the  tone  in  which  her  daughter 
spoke.  She  felt  that  it  boded  ill  for  Harry's  welfare  ;  and  she 
tried,  but  tried  in  vain,  to  elicit  from  her  daughter  the  expres- 
sion of  a  kinder  feeling. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  must  say  I  think  you  are  hard  on  him. 
But  probably,  just  at  present  you  have  the  spirit  of  contradic- 
tion in  you.  If  I  were  to  begin  to  abuse  him,  perhaps  I  should 
get  you  to  praise  him." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  did  not  abuse  him." 

"  ScJmething  like  it,  my  dear,  when  you  said  he  was  spoony." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  would  not  abuse  him  for  worlds — I  know 

how  good  he  is,  I  know  how  you  love  him,  but,  but "    and 

Gertrude,  though  very  little  given  to  sobbing  moods,  burst 
into  tears. 

"Come  here,  Gertrude;  come  here,  my  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward,  now  moved  more  for  her  daughter  than  for  her 
favorite  :  "  what  is  it  ?  what  makes  you  cry  ?  I  did  not  really 
mean  that  you  abused  poor  Harry." 

Gertrude  got  up  from  her  chair,  knelt  at  her  mother's  feet, 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  mother's  lap — "  Oh,  mamma,"  she  said, 
with  a  half-smothered  voice,  "  I  know  what  you  mean  ;  I  know 
what  you  wish  ;  but — but — but,  oh  mamma,^mi  must  not — 
must  not,  must  not  think  of  it  any  more." 

"  Then  may  God  help  him !"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  gently 
caressing  her  daughter,  who  was  still  sobbing  with  her  face 
buried  in  her  mother's  lap.  "  May  God  Almighty  hghten  the 
blow  to  him !  But  oh,  Gertrude,  I  had  hoped,  I  had  so 
hoped "• 

"  Oh,  mamma,  don't,  pray  don't ;"  and  Gertrude  sobbed  as 
though  she  were  going  into  hysterics. 

"  No,  my  child,  I  will  not  say  another  word.  Dear  as  he  is 
to  me,  you  are  and  must  be  ten  times  dearer.  There,  Gertrude, 
it  is  over  now  ;  over  at  least  between  us.  We  know  each 
other's   hearts  noAV.     It  is  my  fault  that  we  did  not  do  so 


CONSOLATION.  129 

sooner."  Tliey  did  understand  cacli  other  at  last,  and  the 
motlier  made  no  further  attempt  to  engage  her  daughter's  love 
for  the  man  she  would  have  chosen  as  her  daughter's  husband. 

But  still  the  worst  was  to  come,  as  Mrs.  Woodward  well 
knew — and  as  Gertrude  knew  also  ;  to  come,  too,  on  this  very- 
day.  Mrs.  Woodward,  with  a  woman's  keen  perception,  felt 
assured  that  Harry  Norman  when  he  found  himself  at  the  Cot- 
tage, freed  from  the  presence  of  the  successful  candidate, 
surrounded  by  the  affectionate  faces  of  all  her  circle,  would 
melt  at  once  and  look  to  his  love  for  consolation.  She  under- 
stood the  feelings  of  his  heart  as  well  as  though  she  had  read 
them  in  a  book ;  and  yet  she  could  do  nothing  to  save  him 
from  his  fresh  sorrows.  The  cup  was  prepared  for  him,  and  it 
was  necessary  that  he  should  drink  it.  She  could  not  tell  him, 
could  not  tell  even  him,  that  her  daughter  had  rejected  him, 
when  as  yet  he  had  made  no  offer. 

And  so  Harry  Norman  hurried  down  to  his  fate.  When  he 
reached  the  Cottage,  Mrs.  Woodward  and  Linda  and  Katie 
were  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Harry,  my  dear  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  rushing  to 
him,  throwing  her  arms  round  him,  and  kissing  him  :  "  we  know 
it  all,  we  understand  it  all — my  fine,  dear,  good  Harry." 

Harry  was  melted  in  a  moment,  and  in  the  softness  of  his 
mood  kissed  Katie  too,  and  Linda  also.  Katie  he  had  often 
kissed,  but  never  Linda,  cousins  though  they  were.  Linda 
merely  laughed,  but  Norman  blushed;  for  he  remembered  that 
had  it  so  chanced  that  Gertrude  had  been  there,  he  would  not 
have  dared  to  kiss  her. 

"  Oh,  Harry,"  said  Katie,  "  we  are  so  sorry — that  is,  not  sorry 
about  Alaric,  but  sorry  about  you.  Why  were  there  not  two 
prizes  ? " 

"  It 's  all  right  as  it  is,  Katie,"  said  he ;  "  we  need  none  of  us 
be  sorry  at  all.  Alaric  is  a  clever  fellow ;  everybody  gave  him 
credit  for  it  before,  and  now  he  has  proved  that  everybody  is 
right." 

"  He  is  older  than  you,  you  know,  and  therefore  he  ought  to 
be  cleverer,"  said  Katie,  trying  to  make  things  pleasant. 

And  then  they  went  out  into  the  garden.  But  where  was 
Gertrude  all  this  time  ?  She  had  been  in  the  drawing-room  a 
moment  before  his  arrival.  They  walked  out  into  the  lawn,  but 
nothing  was  said  about  her  absence.  Norman  could  not  brin  :,• 
himself  to  ask  for  her,  and  Mrs.  Woodward  could  not  trust  her- 
self to  talk  of  her. 

6* 


130  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"  Where  is  the  captain  ? ''  said  Harry. 

"He's  at  Hampton  Court,"  said  Linda;  "he  has  found 
another  navy  captain  there,  and  he  goes  over  every  day  to  play 
backgammon."  As  they  were  speaking,  however,  the  captain 
walked  through  the  house  on  to  the  lawn. 

"  Well,  Norman,  how  are  you,  how  are  you  ?  sorry  you 
couldn't  all  win.  But  you  're  a  man  of  fortune,  you  know,  so 
it  doesn't  signify." 

"  Not  a  great  deal  of  fortune,"  said  Harry,  looking  sheepish. 

"  Well,  I  only  hope  the  best  man  got  it.  Now,  at  the 
Admiralty  the  worst  man  gets  it  always." 

"  The  worst  man  didn't  get  it  here,"  said  Harry. 

"No,  no,"  said  Uncle  Bat,  "I'm  sure  he  did  not;  nor  he 
won't  long  at  the  Admiralty,  either,  I  can  tell  them  that.  But 
Where's  Gertrude  ? " 

"  She's  in  her  bedroom,  dressing  for  dinner,"  said  Katie. 

"Hoity  toity,"  said  Uncle  Bat — "  she's  going  to  niake„herself 
very  grand  to-day.  That's  all  for  you,  Master  Norman.  Well, 
I  suppose  we  may  all  go  in  and  get  ready ;  but  mind,  I  have 
got  no  sweetheart,  and  so  T  shan't  make  myself  grand  at  all ; " 
and  so  they  all  went  in  to  dress  for  dinner. 

When  Norman  came  down,  Gertrude  was  in  the  drawing- 
room  alone.  But  he  knew  that  they  would  be  alone  but  for  a 
minute,  and  that  minute  would  not  serve  for  his  purpose.  She 
said  one  soft  gentle  word  of  condolence  to  him,  some  little 
sentence  that  she  had  been  studying  to  pronounce.  All  her 
study  was  thrown  away ;  for  Norman,  in  his  confusion,  did  not 
understand  a  word  that  she  spoke.  Her  tone,  however,  was 
kind  and  affectionate;  and  she  shook  hands  with  him  apparently 
with  cordiality.  He,  however,  ventured  no  kiss  with  her.  He 
did  not  even,  press  her  hand,  when  for  a  moment  he  held  it 
within  his  own. 

Dinner  was  soon  over,  and  the  autumn  evening  still  admitted 
of  their  going  out.  Norman  was  not  sorry  to  urge  the  fact 
that  the  ladies  had*  done  so  as  an  excuse  to  Captain  Cuttwater 
for  not  sitting  with  him  over  his  v/Ine.  He  heard  their  voices 
in  the  garden,  and  went  out  to  join  them,  prepared  to  ascertain 
his  fate  if  fortune  would  give  him  an  opportunity  of  doing  so. 
He  found  the  party  to  consist  of  Mrs.  Woodward,  Linda,  and 
Katie  ;  Gertrude  was  not  there. 

"  I  think  the  evenings  get  warmer  as  the  winter  gets  nearer," 
said  Harry. 

"Yes,"  said   Mrs.  Woodward,  "but   they  are  so  dangerous. 


CONSOLATION.  131 

The  uiglit  comes  on  all  at  once,  and  then  the  air  is  so  damp 
and  cold." 

And  so  tliey  went  on  talking  about  the  weather. 

"  Your  boat  is  up  in  London,  I  know,  Harry,"  said  Katie, 
with  a  voice  of  reproach,  but  at  the  same  time  with  a  look  of 
entreaty. 

"  Yes,  it's  at  Searle's,"  said  Norman. 

"  But  the  punt  is  here,"  said  Katie. 

"  Not  this  evening,  Katie,"  said  he. 

"  Katie,  how  can  you  be  such  a  tease  ?"  said  Mrs.  "Woodward ; 
"you'll  make  Harry  hate  the  island,  and  you  too.  I  wonder  you 
can  be  so  selfish." 

Poor  Katie's  eyes  became  suffused  with  tears. 

"  My  dear  Katie,  it's  very  bad  of  me,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Norman, 
"  and  the  fine  w^eather  so  nearly  over  too ;  I  ought  to  take  you, 
oughtn't  I  ?  come,  we  will  go." 

"  No  we  won't,"  said  Kafrie,  taking  his  big  hand  in  both  her 
little  ones,  "  indeed  we  won't.  It  was  very  wrong  in  me  to  bother 
you ;  and  you  with — with — with  so  much  to  think  of.  Dear 
Harry,  I  don't  want  to  go  at  all,  indeed  I  don't,"  and  she  turned 
away  from  the  little  path  which  led  to  the  place  where  the  punt 
was  moored. 

They  sauntered  on  for  a  while  together,  and  then  Norman 
left  them.  He  said  nothing,  but  merely  stole  away  from  the 
lawn  towards  the  drawing-room  window.  Mrs.  Woodward  well 
knew  with  what  object  he  went,  and  would  have  spared  him  from 
his  immediate  sorrow  by  following  him ;  but  she  judged  that  it 
would  be  better  both  for  him  and  for  her  daughter  that  he  should 
learn  the  truth. 

He  went  in  through  the  open  drawing-room  window,  and 
found  Gertrude  alone.  She  was  on  the  sofa  with  a  book  in  her 
hand  ;  and  had  he  been  able  to  watch  her  closely  he  would  have 
seen  that  the  book  trembled  as  he  entered  the  room.  But  he 
was  unable  to  watch  anything  closely.  His  own  heart  beat  so 
fast,  his  own  confusion  was  so  great,  that  he  could  hardly  see 
the  girl  whom  he  now  hoped  to  gain  as  his  wife.  Had 
Alaric  been  coming  to  his  wooing,  he  would  have  had  every 
faculty  at  his  call.  But  then  Alaric  could  not  have  loved  as  Nor- 
man loved. 

And  so  we  will  leave  them.  In  about  half  an  hour,  when  the 
short  twilight  was  becoming  dusk,  Mrs.  Woodward  returned  and 
found  Norman  standing  alone  on  the  hearthrug  before  the  fire- 
place.    Gertrude  was  away,  and   he  was  leaning  against  the 


132  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

mantel-piece,  witli  his  hands  behind  his  back,  staring  at  va- 
cancy ;  but  oh !  with  such  an  aspect  of  dull,  speechless  agony 
in  his  face. 

Mrs.  Woodward  looked  up  at  him,  and  would  have  burst  into 
tears,  had  she  not  remembered  that  they  would  not  be  long- 
alone  ;  she  therefore  restrained  herself,  but  gave  one  involuntary 
sigh;  and  then  taking  off  her  bonnet,  placed  herself  where  she 
might  sit  without  staring  at  him  in  his  sorrow. 

Katie  came  in  next.     "  Oh !  Harry,  it's  so  lucky  we  didn't 
start  in  the  punt,"  said    she,   "for  it's  going  to  pour,  and  we* 
never   should  have  been  back  from  the   island  in   that  slow 
thing." 

Norman  looked  at  her  and  tried  to  smile,  but  the  attempt 
was  a  ghastly  failure.  Katie,  gazing  up  into  his  face,  saw  that 
he  was  unhappy,  and  slunk  away,  without  further  speech,  to  her 
distant  chair.  There,  from  time  to  time,  she  would  look  up  at 
him,  and  her  little  heart  melted  with  ruth  to  see  the  depth  of 
his  misery.  "  A^y,  oh  why,"  thought  she,  "  should  that  greedy 
Alaric  have  taken  away  the  only  prize  ?" 

And  then  Linda  came  running  in  with  her  bonnet  ribbons 
all  moist  with  the  big  rain-drops.  "  You  are  a  nice  squire  of 
dames,"  said  she,  "  to  leave  us  all  out  to  get  wet  through  by 
ourselves ;"  and  then  she  also,  looking  up,  saw  that  jesting 
was  at  present  ill-timed,  and  so  sat  herself  down  quietly  at  the 
tea-table. 

But  Norman  never.^oved.  He  saw  them  come  in  one  after 
another.  He  saw  the  pity  expressed  in  Mrs.  Woodward's  face  ; 
he  heard  the  light-hearted  voices  of  the  two  girls,  and  observed 
how,  when  they  saw  him,  their  light-heartedness  was  abashed  ; 
but  still  he  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  He  had  been  stricken 
with  a  fearful  stroke,  and  for  a  while  was  powerless. 

Captain  Cuttwater  having  shaken  off  his  dining-room  nap, 
came  for  his  tea ;  and  then,  at  last,  Gertrude  also,  descending 
from  her  own  chamber,  glided  quietly  into  the  room.  AVhen 
she  did  so,  Norman  with  a  struggle,  roused  himself,  and  took 
a  chair  next  to  Mrs.  Woodward,  and  opposite  to  her  eldest 
daughter. 

Who  could  describe  the  intense  discomfiture  of  that  tea  party, 
or  paint  in  fitting  colors  the  different  misery  of  each  one  there 
assembled  ?  Even  Captain  Cuttwater  at  once  knew  that  some- 
thing was  wrong,  and  munched  his  bread-and-butter  and  drank 
his  tea  in  silence.  Linda  surmised  what  had  taken  place ;  though 
she  was  surprised,  she  was  left  without  any  doubt.     Poor  Katie 


CONSOLATION.  133 

was  still  in  tlic  dark,  but  slie  also  knew  that  there  was  cause  for 
sorrow,  and  crept  more  and  more  into  her  little  self.  Mrs;  Wood- 
ward *sat  with  averted  face,  and  ever  and  anon  she  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  Gertrude  was  very  pale,  and  all  but 
motionless,  but  she  had  schooled  herself,  and  managed  to  drink 
her  tea  with  more  apparent  indifference  than  any  of  the  others. 
Norman  sat  as  he  had  before  been  standing,  with  that  dreadful 
look  of  agony  upon  his  brow. 

Immediately  after  tea  Mrs.  Woodward  got  up  and  went  to 
her  dressing-room.  Her  dressing-room,  though  perhaps  not 
improperly  so  called,  was  not  an  exclusive  closet  devoted  to 
combs,  petticoats,  and  soap  and  water.  It  was  a  comfortable 
snug  room,  nicely  furnished  with  sofa  and  easy  chairs,  and  often 
open  to  others  besides  her  hand-maidens.  Thither  she  betook 
herself,  that  she  might  weep  unseen  ;  but  in  about  twenty  min- 
utes her  tears  were  disturbed  by  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door. 

Very  soon  after  she  went,  Gertrude  also  left  the  room,  and 
then  Katie  crept  off. 

"I  have  got  a  headache  to-night,"  said  Norman,  after  the 
remaining  three  had  sat  silent  for  a  minute  or  two ;  "  I  think 
I'll  go  across  and  go  to  bed." 

"  A  headache  !"  said  Linda.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  that  you 
have  got  to  go  to  that  horrid  inn." 

"  Oh !  I  shall  do  very  well  there,"  said  Norman,  trying  to 
smile. 

"  Will  you  have  my  room  ?"  said  the  captain  good-naturedly ; 
"  any  sofa  does  for  me." 

Norman  assured  them  as  well  as  he  could  that  his  present 
headache  was  of  such  a  nature  that  a  bed  at  the  inn  would  be 
the  best  thing  for  him  ;  and  then,  shaking  hands  with  them,  he 
moved  to  the  door. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Harry,"  said  Linda,  "  and  let  me  tell  mam- 
ma. She'll  give  you  something  for  your  head."  He  made  a 
sign  to  her,  however,  to  let  him  pass,  and  then,  creeping  gently 
upstairs,  he  knocked  at  Mrs.  AVoodward's  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  and  Harry  Norman,  with 
all  bis  sorrows  still  written  on  his  face,  stood  before  her. 

"  Oh !  Harry,"  said  she,  "  come  in ;  I  am  so  glad  that  you 
have  come  to  me.  Oh !  Harry,  dear  Harry,  what  shall  I  say 
to  comfort  you  ?     What  can  I  say — Avhat  can  I  do  ?" 

Norman,  forgetting  his  manhood,  burst  into  tears,  and  throw- 
ing himself  on  a  sofa,  buried  his  face  on  the  arm  and  sobbed 
like  a  young  girl.     But  the  tears  of  a  man  bring  with  them  no 


134  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

comfort  as  do  those  of  tlie  softer  sex.  He  was  a  strong  tall 
man,  and  it  was  dreadful  to  see  him  thus  convulsed. 

Mrs.  Woodward  stood  by  him,  and  put  her  hand  caressingly 
on  his  shoulder.  She  saw  he  had  striven  to  speak,  and  had 
fomid  himself  unable  to  do  so.  "I  know  how  it  is,"  said  she 
— "  you  need  not  tell  me  ;  I  know  it  all.  Would  that  she  could 
have  seen  you  with  my  eyes ;  would  that  she  could  have  judged 
you  with  my  mind  !" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Woodward  !" 

"  To  me,  Harry,  you  should  have  been  the  dearest,  the  most 
welcome  son.  But  you  are  so  still.  No  son  could  be  dearer. 
Oh,  that  she  could  have  seen  you  as  I  see  you  !" 

"There  is  no  hope,"  said  he.  He  did  not  put  it  as  a  ques- 
tion ;  but  Mrs.  Woodward  saw  that  it  was  intended  that  she 
should  take  it  as  such  if  she  pleased.  What  could  she  say  to 
him  ?  She  knew  that  there  was  no  hope.  Had  it  been  Linda, 
Linda  might  have  been  moulded  to  her  will.  But  with  Ger- 
trude there  could  now  be  no  hope.  What  could  she  say  ?  She 
knelt  down  and  kissed  his  brow,  and  mingled  her  tears  with  his. 

"  Oh,  Harry — oh,  Harry  !  my  dearest,  dearest  son  !" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Woodward,  I  have  loved  her  so  truly." 

What  could  Mrs.  Woodward  do  but  cry  also  ?  what  but  that, 
and  throw  such  blame  as  she  could  upon  her  own  shoulders  ? 
She  was  bound  to  defend  her  daughter. 

"  It  has  been  my  fault,  Hari'y,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  I  whom  you 
must  blame,  not  poor  Gertrude." 

"  I  blame  no  one,"  said  he. 

"  I  know  you  do  not ;  but  it  is  I  whom  you  should  blame. 
I  should  have  learnt  how  her  heart  stood,  and  have  prevented 
this — but  I  thought,  I  thought  it  would  have  been  otherwise." 

Norman  looked  up  at  her,  and  took  her  hand,  and  pressed  it. 
"  I  will  go  now,"  he  said,  "  and  don't  expect  me  here  to-morrow. 
I  could  not  come  in.  Say  that  I  thought  it  best  to  go  to  town, 
because  I  am  unwell.  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Woodward ;  pray  write 
to  me,  I  can't  come  to  the  Cottage  now  for  a  while,  but  pray 
write  to  me  ;  do  not  you  forget  me,  Mrs.  AVoodward." 

Mrs.  Woodward  fell  upon  his  breast  and  wept,  and  bade  God 
bless  him,  and  called  him  her  son  and  her  dearest  friend,  and 
sobbed  till  her  heart  was  nigh  to  break.  "  What,"  she  thought, 
"what  could  her  daughter  wish  for,  when  she  repulsed  from  her 
feet  such  a  suitor  as  Harry  Norman  ?" 

He  then  went  quietly  down  the  stairs,  quietly  out  of  the  house, 
and  having  packed  up  his  bag  at  the  inn,  started  off  through  the 


A    COMMUNICATION    OF    IMPORTANCE.  135 

pouring  rain,  and  walked  away  throiigli  the  dark,  stormy  niglit, 
through  the  dirt,  and  mud,  and  wet,  to  his  London  lodgings ; 
nor  was  he  again  seen  at  Surbiton  Cottage  for  some  months  after 
this  adventure. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    COMMUNICATION    OF    IMPORTANCE. 

Norman's  dark,  wet  walk  did  him  physically  no  harm,  and 
morally  some  good.  He  started  on  it  in  that  frame  of  mind 
which  induces  a  man  to  look  with  indifference  on  all  coming 
evils,  under  the  impression  that  the  evils  already  come  are  too 
heavy  to  admit  of  any  increase.  But  by  the  time  that  he  was 
thoroughly  wet  through,  well  splashed  with  mud,  and  consi- 
derably fatigued  by  his  first  five  or  six  miles'  walk,  he  began  to 
reflect  that  life  was  not  over  with  him,  and  that  he  must  think 
orf  future  things  as  well  as  those  that  were  past. 

He  got  home  about  two  o'clock,  and  having  knocked  up  his 
landlady,  Mrs.  Richards,  betook  himself  to  bed.  Alaric  had 
been  in  his  room  for  the  last  two  hours,  but  of  Charley  and  his 
latch-key  Mrs.  Richards Jinew  nothing  She  stated  her  belief, 
however,  that  two  a.m.  seldom  saw  that  erratic  gentleman  in 
his  bed. 

On  the  following  morning,  Alaric,  when  he  got  his  hot  water, 
heard  that  Norman  returned  during  the  night  from  Hampton, 
and  he  immediately  guessed  what  had  brought  him  back.  He 
knew  that  nothing  short  of  some  great  trouble  would  have 
induced  Harry  to  leave  the  Cottage  so  abruptly,  and  that  that 
trouble  must  have  been  of  such  a  nature  as  to  make  his  remain- 
ino-  with  the  Woodwards  an  ao-o-ravation  of  it.  No  such  trouble 
could  have  come  on  him  but  the  one. 

As  Charley  seldom  made  his  appearance  at  the  breakfast  table 
on  Sunday  mornings,  Alaric  foresaw  that  he  must  undergo  a 
tete-d-tete  which  would  not  be  agreeable  to  himself,  and  which 
must  be  much  more  disagreeable  to  his  companion ;  but  for  this 
there  was  no  help.  Harry  had,  however,  prepared  himself  for 
what  he  had  to  go  through,  and  immediately  that  the  two 
were  alone,  he  told  his  tale  in  a  very  few  words. 

"Alaric,"  said  he,  "I  proposed  to  Gertrude  last  night,  and 
she  refused  me." 

Alaric  Tudor  was  deeply  grieved  for  his  friend.  There 
was  something  in  the  rejected  suitor's  countenance — something 


136  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

in  the  tone  of  voice,  wliicli  would  have  touclied  any  heart  softer 
than  stone;  and  Alaric's  heart  had  not  as  yet  been  so  hardened 
by  the  world  as  to  render  him  callous  to  the  sight  of  such  grief 
as  this. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  Harry,  she'll  think  better  of  it  in  a 
month  or  two,"  he  said. 

"  Never — never  ;  I  am  sure  of  it.  Not  only  from  her  own 
manner,  but  from  her  mother's,"  said  Harry.  And  yet,  during 
half  his  walk  home,  he  had  been  trying  to  console  himself  with 
the  reflection  that  most  young  ladies  reject  their  husbands  once 
or  twice  before  they  accept  them. 

There  is  no  offering  a  man  comfort  in  such  a  sorrow  as  this.; 
unless,  indeed,  he  be  one  to  whom  the  worship  of  Bacchus  may 
be  made  a  fitting  substitute  for  that  of  the  Paphian  goddess. 

There  is  a  sort  of  disgrace  often  felt,  if  never  acknowledged, 
which  attaches  itself  to  a  man  for  having  put  himself  into  Nor- 
man's present  position,  and  this  generally  prevents  him  from 
confessing  his  defeat  in  such  matters.  The  misfortune  in  ques- 
tion is  one  which  doubtless  occurs  not  unfrequently  to  man- 
kind ;  but  as  mankind  generally  bear  their  special  disappoint- 
ments in  silence,  and  as  the  vanity  of  women  is  generally  exceeded 
by  their  good  nature,  the  secret,  we  .believe,  in  most  cases  re- 
mains a  secret.   ; 

"  Shall  I,  wasting  in  despair, 
Die  because  a  woman's  fair? 
If  she  be  not  fair  for  me, 
"What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ?" 

This  was  the  upshot  of  the  consideration  which  Withers,  the 
poet,  gave  to  the  matter,  and  Withers  Avas  doubtless  right. 
'Tis  thus  that  rejected  lovers  should  think,  thus  that  they 
should  demean  themselves ;  but  they  seldom  come  to  this  phi- 
losophy till  a  few  days  have  passed  by,  and  talking  of  their 
grievances  does  not  assist  them  in  doing  so. 

When,  therefore,  Harry  had  declared  what  had  happened  to 
him,  and  had  declared  also  that  he  had  no  further  hope,  he  did 
not  at  first  find  himself  much  the  better  for  what  he  had  con- 
fessed. He  was  lackadaisical  and  piteous,  and  Alaric,  though 
he  had  endeavored  to  be  friendly,  soon  found  that  he  had  no 
power  of  imparting  any  comfort.  Early  in  the  day  they  parted, 
and  did  not  see  each  other  again  till  the  following  morning. 

"I  was  going  down  to  Normansgrove  on  Thursday,"  said 
Harry. 


A   COMMTINICATION   OF   IMPORTANCE.  137 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Alaric. 

"  I  tliink  I  shall  ask  leave  to  go  to-day.  It  can't  make  mucli 
diflference,  and  the  sooner  I  get  away  the  better." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  Norman  left  town  the  same  after- 
noon, and  Alaric,  with  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him,  was 
left  alone. 

London  was  now  very  empty,  and  he  was  constrained  to 
enjoy  his  glory  very  much  by  himself.  He  had  never  asso- 
ciated much  with  the  Minusexes  and  Uppinalls,  nor  yet  with 
the  Joneses  and  Robinsons  of  his  own  office,  and  it  could  not 
be  expected  that  there  should  be  any  specially  confidential 
intercourse  between  them  just  at  the  present  moment.  Undy 
was  of  course  out  of  town  with  the  rest  of  the  fashionable 
world,  and  Alaric,  during  the  next  week,  was  left  very  much  on 
his  own  hands. 

"And  so,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  walked  solitary  along  the 
lone  paths  of  Rotton  Row,  and  across  the  huge  desert  to  the 
Marble  Arch,  "  and  so  poor  Harry's  hopes  have  been  all  in 
vain ;  he  has  lost  his  promotion,  and  now  he  has  lost  his  bride 
— poor  Haj^ry  !" — and  then  it  occurred  to  him  that  as  he  had 
acquired  the  promotion  it  might  be  his  destiny  to  win  the 
bride  also.  He  had  never  told  himself  that  he  loved  Gertrude  ; 
he  had  looked  on  her  as  Norman's  own,  and  he,  at  any  rate, 
was  not  the  man  to  sigh  in  despair  after  anything  that  was  out 
of  his  reach.  But  now,  now  that  Harry's  chance  was  over,  and 
that  no  bond  of  friendship  could  interfere  with  such  a  passion, 
why  should  he  not  tell  himself  that  he  loved  Gertrude  ?  "  If, 
as  Harry  had  himself  said,  there  was  no  longer  any  hope  for 
him,  why,"  said  Alaric  to  himself,  "  why  should  not  I  try  my 
chance?"  Of  Linda,  of  ".dftaiv.dear,e^t  Linda,"  at  this  moment 
he  thought  very  little,  or,  perhaps,  not  at  all.  Of  what  Mrs. 
Woodward  might  say,  of  that  he  did  think  a  good  deal. 

The  week  was  melancholy  and  dull,  and  it  passed  very 
slowly  at  Hampton.  On  the  Sunday  morning  it  became  known 
to  them  all  that  Norman  was  gone,  but  the  subject,  by  tacit 
consent,  was  allowed  to  pass  all  but  unnoticed.  Even  Katie, 
even  Uncle  Bat,  were  aware  that  something  had  occurred  which 
ought  to  prevent  them  from  inquiring  too  particularly  why 
Harry  had  started  back  to  town  in  so  sudden  a  manner ;  and 
so  they  said  nothing.  To  Linda,  Gertrude  had  told  what  had 
happened ;  and  Linda,  as  she  heard  it,  asked  herself  whether 
she  was  prepared  to  be  equally  obdurate  with  her  lover.  He 
had  now  the  means  of  supporting  a  wife,  and  why  should  she 
be  obdurate  ? 


138  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

Nothing  was  said  on  the  subject  between  Gertrude  and  hei' 
mother.  What  more  could  Mrs.  Woodward  say  ?  It  would 
have  been  totally  opposed  to  the  whole  principle  of  her  life  to 
endeavor,  by  any  means,  to  persuade  her  daughter  to  the 
match,  or  to  have  used  her  maternal  influence  in  Norman's 
favor.  And  she  was  well  aware  that  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  do  so  successfully.  Gertrude  was  not  a  girl  to  be 
talked  into  a  marriage  by  any  parent,  and  certainly  not  by 
such  a  parent  as  her  mother.  There  was,  therefore,  nothing- 
further  to  be  said  about  it. 

On  Saturday  Alaric  went  down,  but  his  arrival  hardly  made 
things  more  pleasant.  Mrs.  Woodward  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  be  cordial  with  him,  and  the  girls  were  restrained  by  a 
certain  feeling  that  it  would  not  be  rig-lit  to  show  too  much  out- 
ward joy  at  Alaric's  success.  Linda  said  one  little  word  of 
affectionate  encouragement,  but  it  joroduced  no  apparent  return 
from  Alaric.  His  immediate  object  was  to  recover  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward's good  graces ;  and  he  thought  before  he  went  that  he 
had  reason  to  hope  that  he  might  do  so. 

Of  all  the  household.  Captain  Cuttwater  was  the  most  em- 
phatic in  his  congratulations.  "  He  had  no  doubt,"  he  said,  "  that 
the  best  man-  had  won.  He  had  always  hoped  that  the  best 
man  might  win.  He  had  not  had  the  same  luck  when  he  was 
young,  but  he  was  very  glad  to  see  such  an  excellent  rule 
brought  into  the  service.  It  would  soon  work  great  changes, 
he  was  quite  sure,  at  the  Board  of  Admiralty." 

On  the  Sunday  afternoon  Captain  Cuttwater  asked  him  into 
his  own  bedroom,  and  told  him  with  a  solemn,  serious  manner 
that  he  had  a  communication  of  importance  to  make  to  him. 
Alaric  followed  the  captain  into  the  well-known  room  in  which 
Norman  used  to  sleep,  wondering  what  could  be  the  nature  of 
Uncle  Bat's  important  communication.  It  might,  probably,  be 
some  tidings  of  Sir  Jib  Boom. 

"  Mr.  Alaric,"  said  the  old  man,  as  soon  as  they  were  both 
seated  on  opposite  sides  of  a  little  Pembroke  table  that  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  "  I  was  heartily  glad  to  hear  of  your 
success  at  the  Weights  and  Measures ;  not  that  I  ever  doubted 
it  if  they  made  a  fair  sailing  match  of  it." 
.    "  I  am  sure  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  Captain  Cuttwater." 

"That  is  as  may  be,  by  and  by.  But  the  fact  is,  I  have 
taken  a  fancy  to  you.  I  like  fellows  that  know  how  to  push 
themselves." 

Alaric  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  repeat  again  that  he  felt 
himself  grateful  for  Captain  Cuttwater's  good  opinion. 


A   COMMUNICATION    OF   IMPORTANCE.  139 

"  Not  that  I  have  anything  to  say  against  Mr.  Norman 
— a  very  nice  young  man,  indeed,  he  is,  very  nice  thongli 
perhaps  not  quite  so  cheerful  in  his  manners  as  he  might 
be." 

Alaric  began  to  take  his  friend's  part,  and  declared  vs^hat  a 
very  worthy  fellow  Harry  was. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it — I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Uncle  Bat ;  "  but 
everybody  can't  be  A  1  ;  and  a  man  can't  make  everybody 
his  heir." 

Alaric  pricked  up  his  ears.  So  after  all  Captain  Cuttwater 
was  right  in  calling  his  communication  important.  But  what 
business  had  Captain  Cuttwater  to  talk  of  making  new  heirs? 
— had  he  not  declared  that  the  Woodwards  were  his  heirs  ? 

"I  have  got  a  little  money,  Mr.  Alaric,"  he  went  on  saying  in 
a  low  modest  tone,  very  different  from  that  he  ordinarily  used ; 
"  I  have  got  a  little  money — not  much — and  it  will  of  course  go 
to  my  niece  here." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Alaric. 

"  That  is  to  say — it  will  go  to  her  children,  ^vhich  is  all  the 
same  thing." 

"  Quite  the  same  thing,"  said  Alaric. 

"  But  my  idea  is  this :  if  a  man  has  saved  a  few  pounds 
himself,  I  think  he  has  a  right  to  give  it  to  those  he  loves  best. 
Now  I  have  no  children  of  my  own." 

Alaric  declared  himself  aware  of  the  fact. 

"And  I  suppose  I  shan't  have  any  now." 

"  Not  if  you  don't  marry,"  said  Alaric,  who  felt  rather  at  a 
loss  for  a  proper  answer.  He  could  not,  however,  have  made  a 
better  one. 

"  No ;  that's  w^hat  I  mean  ;  but  I  don't  think  I  shall  marry. 
I  am  very  well  contented  here,  and  I  like  Surbiton  Cottage 
amazingly." 

"  It's  a  charming  place,"  said  Ahiric. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  have  any  children  of  my 
own," — and  then  Uncle  Bat  sighed  gently — "  and  so  I  have 
been  considering  whom  I  should  like  to  adopt." 

"  Quite  right,  Captain  Cuttwater." 

"  Whom  I  should  like  to  adopt.  I  should  like  to  have  one 
whom  I  could  call  in  a  special  manner  my  own.  Now,  Mr. 
Alaric,  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  and  who  do  vou  think  it 
is  ?" 

"  Oh  !  Captain  Cuttwater,  I  couldn't  guess  on  such  a  matter. 
I  shouldn't  like  to  guess  wrong." 


140  THE   THKEE   CLERKS. 

"  Perhaps  not — no  ;  that's  right ; — well  then  I'll  tell  you  ; 
it's  Gertrude." 

Alaric  was  well  aware  that  it  was  Gertrude  before  her  name 
had  been  pronounced. 

"  Yes,  it's  Gertrude ;  of  course  I  couldn't  go  out  of  Bessie's 
family — of  course  it  must  be  either  Gertrude,  or  Linda,  or 
Katie.  Now  Linda  and  Katie  are  very  well,  but  they  haven't 
half  the  gumption  that  Gertrude  has." 

"  No,  they  have  notj'^said  Alaric. 

"  I  like  gumption,"  said  Captain  Cuttwater.  "  You've  a  great 
deal  of  gumption — that's  why  I  like  you." 

Alaric  laughed,  and  muttered  something. 

"  Now  I  have  been  thinking  of  something ;"  and  Uncle  Bat 
looked  strangely  mysterious — "  I  wonder  what  you  think  of 
Gertrude  ?" 

"  Who— I  ?"  said  Alaric. 

"  I  can  see  through  a  millstone  as  well  as  another,"  said  the 
captain ;  "  and  I  used  to  think  that  Norman  and  Gertrude 
meant  to  hit  it  off  together." 

Alaric  said  nothing.  He  did  not  feel  inclined  to  tell  Nor- 
man's secret,  and  yet  he  could  not  belie  Gertrude  by  contradict- 
ing the  justice  of  Captain  Cuttwater's  opinion. 

"  I  used  to  think  so — but  now  I  find  there's  nothing  in  it.  I 
am  sure  Gertrude  wouldn't  have  him,  and  I  think  she's  right. 
He  hasn't  gumption  enough." 

"  Harry  Norman  is  no  fool." 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  said  the  captain ;  "  but  take  my  word, 
she'll  never  have  him — Lord  bless  you,  Norman  knows  that  as 
well  as  I  do." 

Alaric  knew  it  very  well  himself  also ;  but  he  did  not  say  so. 

"  Now,  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  this — why  don't  you 
make  up  to  her  ?  If  you'll  make  up  to  her  and  carry  the  day, 
all  I  can  say  is,  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  keep  the  pot  a  boiling ; 
and  if  you  think  it  will  help  you,. you  may  tell-  Qei^trude  that  I 
say  so." 

This  was  certainly  an  important  communication,  and  one  to 
which  Alaric  found  it  very  diflScult  to  give  any  immediate 
answer.  He  said  a  great  deal  about  his  aff"ection  for  Mrs. 
Woodward,  of  his  admiration  for  Miss  Woodward,  of  his  strong 
sense  of  Captain  Cuttwater's  kindness,  and  of  his  own  unworthi- 
ness ;  but  he  left  the  captain  with  an  impression  that  he  was 
not  prepared  at  the  present  moment  to  put  himself  forward  as 
a  candidate  for  Gertrude's  hand. 


A   COMMUNICATION   OF   IMPORTANCE.  Ill 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  deuce  he  would  have,"  said  the 
captain  to  himself.  "She's  as  fine  a  girl  as  he's  likely  to  find  ; 
and  two  or  three  thousand  pounds  isn't  so  easily  got  every  day 
by  a  fellow  that  hasn't  a  shilling  of  his  own." 

When  Alaric  took  his  departure  the  next  morning,  he 
thought  he  perceived,  from  Mrs.  Woodward's  manner,  that 
there  was  less  than  her  usual  cordiality  in  the  tone  in 
which  she  said  that  of  course  he  would  return  at  the  end  of 
the  week. 

"  I  will  if  possible,"  he  said,  "  and  I  need  not  say  that  I 
hope  to  do  so ;  but  I  fear  I  may  be  kept  in  town — at  any  rate 
I'll  write."  When  the  end  of  the  week  came  he  wrote  to  say 
that  unfortunately  he  was  kept  in  town.  He  thoroughly  under- 
stood that  people  are  most  valued  when  they  make  themselves 
scarce.  He  got  in  reply  a  note  from  Gertrude,  saying  that  her 
mother  begged  that  on  the  following  Saturday  he  would  come 
and  bring  Charley  -with  him. 

On  his  return  to  town,  Alaric,  by  appointment,  called  on  Sir 
Gregory.  He  had  not  seen  his  patron  yet  since  his  great  report 
on  WJi£alMarvJane  had  been  sent  in.  That  report  had  been 
written  exclusively'-by  himself,  and  poor  Neverbend  had  been 
obliged  to  content  himself  with  putting  all  his  voluminous 
notes  into  Tudor's  hands.  He  afterwards  obediently  signed  the 
report,  and  received  his  reward  for  doing  so.  Alaric  never 
divulged  to  official  ears  how  Neverbend  had  halted  in  the 
course  of  his  descent  to  the  infernal  gods. 

"  I  thoroughly  congratulate  you,"  said  Sir  Gregory.  "  You 
have  justified  my  choice,  and  done  your  duty  with  credit  to 
yourself  and  benefit  to  the  public.  I  hope  you  may  go  on  and 
prosper.  As  long  as  you  remember  that  your  own  interests 
should  always  be  kept  in  subservience  to  those  of  the  public 
service,  you  will  not  fail  to  receive  the  praise  which  such  conduct 
deserves." 

Alaric  thanked  Sir  Gregory  for  his  good  opinion,  and  as  he 
did  so,  he  thought  of  his  new  banker's  account,  and  of  the  300^. 
which  was  lying  there.  After  all,  which  of  them  was  right,  Sir 
Gregory  Hardlines  or  Undy^Scott]  Or  was  it  that  Sir  Gregory's 
opinions  were  such  as  should  control  the  outward  conduct,  and 
Undy's  those  which  should  rule  the  inner  man  ? 


142  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

VERY  SAD. 

Norman  prolonged  his  visit  to  his  father  considerably  beyond 
the  month:  At  first  he  applied  for  and  received  permission  to 
stay  away  another  fortnight,  and  at  the  end  of  that  fortnight  he 
sent  up  a  medical  certificate  in  which  the  doctor  alleged  that  he 
would  be  unable  to  attend  to  business  for  some  considerable 
additional  period.  It  was  not  till  after  Christmas  Day  that  he 
reappeared  at  the  Weights  and  Measures. 

Alaric  kept  his  appointment  at  Hampton,  and  took  Charley 
with  him.  And  on  the  tw^o  following  Saturdays  he  also  went 
there,  and  on  both  occasions  Charley  accompanied  him.  During 
these  visits,  he  devoted  himself,  as  closely  as  he  could,  to  Mrs. 
Woodward.  He  talked  to  her  of  Norman,  and  of  Norman's 
prospects  in  the  oflSce ;  he  told  her  how  he  had  intended  to 
abstain  from  offering  himself  as  a  competitor,  till  he  had,  as  it 
were,  been  forced  by  Norman  to  do  so !  he  declared  over  and 
over  again  that  Norman  would  have  been  victorious  had  he 
stood  his  ground  to  the  end,  and  assured  her  that  such  was  the 
general  opinion  through  the  whole  establishment.  And  this  he 
did  without  talking  much  about  himself,  or  praising  himself  in 
any  way  when  he  did  so.  His  speech  w^as  wholly  of  his  friend, 
and  of  the  sorrow  that  he  felt  that  his  friend  should  have  been 
disappointed  in  his  hopes. 

All  this  had  its  eff'ects.  Of  Norman's  rejected  love  they 
neither  of  them  spoke.  Each  knew  that  the  other  must  be 
aware  of  it,  but  the  subject  was  far  too  tender  to  be  touched,  at 
any  rate  as  yet.  And  so  matters  went  on,  and  Alaric  regained 
the  footing  of  favor  which  he  had  for  a  while  lost  with  the 
mistress  of  the 'house. 

But  there  was  one  inmate  of  Surbitou  Cottage  w^io  saw^  that 
though  Alaric  spent  so  much  of  his  time  with  Mrs.  Woodward, 
he  found  opportunity  also  for  other  private  conversation;  and 
this  w^as  Linda.  Why  was  it  that  in  the  moments  before  they 
dressed  for  dinner,  Alaric  was  whispering  with  Gertrude,  and 
not  with  her  !  Why  was  it  that  Alaric  had  felt  it  necessary  to 
stay  from  church  that  Sunday  evening  when  Gertrude  also  had 
been  prevented  from  going  by  a  headache  ?  He  had  remained, 
he  said,  in  order  that  Captain  Cuttwater  might  have  company ; 


VEUY    SAD.  143 

but  Linda  was  not  slow  to  learn  that  Uncle  Bat  had  been  left  to 
doze  away  the  time  by  himself.  Why,  on  the  following  Monday, 
had  Gertrude  been  down  so  early,  and  why  had  Alaric  been 
over  from  the  inn  full  half  an  hour  before  his  usual  time  ?  Linda 
saw  and  knew  all  this,  and  was  disgusted.  But  even  then  she 
did  not,  could  not  think  that  Alaric  could  be  untrue  to  her ; 
that  her  own  sister  would  rob  her  of  her  lover.  It  could  not  be 
that  there  should  be  such  baseness  in  human  nature  ! 

Poor  Linda ! 

And  yet,  though  she  did  not  believe  that  such  falseness  could 
^xist  in  this  world  of  hers  at  Surbiton  Cottage,  she  could  not 
restrain  herself  from  complaining  rather  petulantly  to  her  sister, 
as  they  were  going  to  bed  on  that  Sunday  evening. 

"  I  hope  your  headache  is  better,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  voice 
as  near  to  irony  as  her  soft  nature  could  produce. 

"Yes,  it  is  quite  well  no^,".  said  Gertrude,  disdaining  to  notice 
the  irony. 

"  I  dare  say  Alaric  had  a  headache  too.  I  suppose  one  was 
about  as  bad  as  the  other." 

"  Linda,"  said  Gertrude,  answering  rather  with  dignity  than 
with  anger,  "  you  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  it  is  not  likely 
that  I  should  plead  false  excuses.  Alaric  never  said  he  had  a 
headache. " 

"  He  said  he  stayed  from  church  to  be  with  Uncle  Bat ;  but 
when  we  came  back  we  found  him  with  you." 

"  Uncle  Bat  went  to  sleep,  and  then  he  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room." 

The  two  girls  said  nothing  more  about  it.  Linda  should  have 
remembered  that  she  had  never  breathed  a  word  to  her  sister  of 
Alaric's  passion  for  herself.  Gertrude's  solemn  propriety  had 
deterred  her,  just  as  she  was  about  to  do  so.  How  very  little 
of  that  passion  had  Alaric  breathed  himself!  and  yet,  alas! 
enough  to  fill  the  fond  girl's  heart  with  dreams  of  love,  which 
occupied  all  her  waking,  all  her  sleeping  thoughts.  Oh !  ye 
ruthless  swains,  from  wdiose  unhallowed  lips  fall  words  full  of 
poisoned  honey,  do  you  never  think  of  the  bitter  agony  of  many 
months,  of  the  dull  misery  of  many  years,  of  the  cold  monotony 
of  an  uncheered  life,  which  follow  so  often  as  the  consequence 
of  your  short  hour  of  pastime  ? 

On  the  Monday  morning,  as  soon  as  Alaric  and  Charley  had 
started  for  town — it  was  the  morning  on  which  Linda  had  been 
provoked  to  find  that  both  Gertrude  and  Alaric  had  been  up 
half  an  hour  before  they  should  have  been — Gertrude  followed 


144  THE   THREE    CLEKKS. 

her  motlier  to  her  dressing-room,  and  with  palpitating  heart 
closed  the  door  behind  her. 

Linda  remained  downstairs,  putting  away  her  tea  and  sugar, 
not  in  the  best  of  humors ;  but  Katie,  according  to  her  wont, 
ran  up  after  her  mother. 

"Katie,"  said  Gertrude,  as  Katie  bounced  into  the  room, 
"dearest  Katie,  I  want  to  speak  a  word  to  mamma — alone. 
Will  you  mind  going  down  just  for  a  few  minutes?"  and  she 
put  her  arm  round  her  sister,  and  kissed  her  with  almost 
unwonted  tenderness. 

"  Go,  Katie  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward  ;  and  Katie,  speech-^ 
less,  retired. 

"Gertrude  has  got  something  particular  to  tell  mamma; 
something  that  I  may  not  hear.  I  wonder  what  it  is  about," 
said  Katie  to.her  second  sister. 

Linda's  heart  sank  within  her.  "£!oulditbe?  No,  it  could 
not,  could  not  be,  that  the  sweet  voice  which  had  whispered  in 
her  ears  those  well-remembered  words,  could  have  again  whis- 
pered the  same  into  other  ears — that  the  very  Gertrude  who 
had  warned  her  not  to  listen  to  such  words  from  such  lips, 
should  have  listened  to  them  herself,  and  have  adopted  them 
and  made  them  her  own  !  It  could  not,  could  not  be  !"  and  yet 
Linda's  heart  sank  low  within  her. 

^  #  *  ^  *  * 

"  If  you  really  love  him,"  said  the  mother,  again  caressing 
her  eldest  daughter  as  she  acknowledged  her  love,  but  hardly 
with  such  tenderness  as  when  that  daughter  had  repudiated  that 
other  love — "  if  you  really  love  him,  dearest,  of  com'se  I  do  not, 
of  course  I  cannot,  object." 

"  I  do,  mamma ;  I  do." 

"Well,  then,  Gertrude,  so  be  it.  I  have  not  a  word. to  say 
against  your  choice.  Had  I  not  believed  him  to  be  an  excel- 
lent young  man,  I  should  not  have  allowed  him  to  be  hera 
with  you  so  much  as  he  has  been.  We  cannot  all  see  with  the 
same  eyes,  dearest,  can  we  ?" 

"  No,  mamma ;  but  pray  don't  think  I  dislike  poor  Harry  ; 
and,  oh !  mamma,  pray  don't  set  him  against  Alaric  because  of 
this " 

"Set  him  against  Alaric!  No,  Gertrude,  I  certainly  shall  not 
do  that.  But  whether  I  can  reconcile  Harry  to  it,  that  is  ano- 
ther thing." 

"  At  any  rate  he  has  no  right  to  be  angry  at  it,"  said  Ger- 
trude, assuming  her  air  of  dignity. 


VERY    SAD.  145 

"Certainly  not  with  you,  Gertrude." 

"  No,  nor  with  Alaric,"  said  she,  almost  with  indignation. 

"  That  depends  on  what  has  passed  between  them.  It  is 
rery  hard  to  say  how  men  so  situated  regard  each  other." 

"  I  know  every^thing  that  has  passed  between  them,"  said 
Gertrude.  "  I  never  gave  Harry  any  encouragement.  As  soon 
as  I  understood  my  own  feelings  I  endeavored  to  make  him 
understand  them  also." 

"  But,  my  dearest,  no  one  is  blaming  you." 

"  But  yo  J  are  blaming  Alaric." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not,  Gertrude." 

"  No  man  could  have  behaved  more  honorably  to  his  friend," 
said  Gertrude ;  "  no  man  more  nobly ;  and  if  Harry  does-  not 
feel  it  so,  he  has  not  the  good  heart  for  which  I  always  gave 
him  credit." 

"Poor  fellow!  his  friendship  for  Alaric  will  be  greatly 
tried."  . 

"  And,  mamma,  has  not  Alaric's  friendship  been  tried  ?  and 
has  it  not  borne  the  trial  nobly?  Harry  told  him  of — of — of 
his  intentions  ;  Harry  told  him  long,  long,  long  ago " 

"  Ah  me ! — poor  Harry  !"  sighed  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  But  you  think  nothing  of  Alaric." 

"  Alaric  is  successful,  my  dear,  and  can "  Think  suffi- 
ciently of  himself,  Mrs.  Woodward  was  going  to  say,  but  she 
stopped  herself. 

"  Harry  told  him  all,"  continued  Gertrude,  "  and  Alaric — 
Alaric  said  nothing  of  his  own  feelings.  Alaric  never  said  a 
word  to  me  that  he  might  not  have  said  before  his  friend — till 
— till You  must  own,  mamma,  that  no  one  can  have  be- 
haved more  nobly  than  Alaric  has  done." 

Mrs.  Woodward,  nevertheless,  had  her  own  sentiments  on  the 
matter,  which  were  not  quite  in  unison  with  those  of  her  daugh- 
ter. But  then  she  was  not  in  love  with  Alaric,  and  her  daugh- 
ter was.  She  thought  that  Alaric's  love  was  a  passion  that  had 
but  lately  come  to  the  birth,  and  that  had  he  been  true  to  his 
friend — nobly  true  as  Gertrude  had  described  him — it  would 
never  have  been  born  at  all,  or  at  any  rate  not  till  Harry  had 
had  a  more  prolonged  chance  of  being  successful  with  his  suit. 
Mrs.  Woodward  understood  human  nature  better  than  her 
daughter,  or,  at  least,  flattered  herself  that  she  did  so,  and  she 
felt  well  assured  that  Alaric  had  not  been  dying  for  love  during 
the  period  of  Harry's  unsuccessful  courtship.  He  might,  she 
thought,  have  waited  a  little  longer  before  he  chose  for  his  wife 

7 


146  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

the  girl  whom  his  friend  had  loved,  seeing  that  he  had  been 
made  the  confidant  of  that  love. 

Such  were  the  feelings  which  Mrs.  Woodward  felt  herself 
unable  to  repress  ;  but  she  could  not  refuse  her  consent  to  the 
marriage.  After  all,  she  had  some  slight  twinge  of  conscience, 
some  inward  conviction  that  she  was  prejudiced  in  Harry's 
favor,  as  her  daughter  was  in  Alaric's.  Then  she  had  lost  all 
right  to  object  to  Alaric,  by  allowing  him  to  be  so  constantly 
at  the  Cottage ;  and  then  again,  there  was  nothing  to  which  in 
reason  she  could  object.  In  point  of  immediate  income,  Alaric 
was  now  the  better  match  of  the  two.  She  kissed  her  daugh- 
ter, therefore,  and  promised  that  she  would  do  her  best  to  take 
Alaric  to  her  heart  as  her  son-in-law. 

"  You  will  tell  Uncle  Bat,  mamma  ?"  said  Gertrude. 
"  0  yes — certainly,  my  dear ;  of  course  he'll  be  told.     But  I 
suppose  it  does  not  make  much  matter,  immediately  ?" 

"  I  think  he  should  be  told,  mamma ;  I  should  not  like  him 
to  think  that  he  was  treated  with  anything  like  disrespect." 

"Very  well,  my  dear,  I'll  tell  him,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward, 
who  was  somewhat  surprised  at  her  daughter's  punctilious  feel- 
ings about  Uncle  Bat.  However,  it  was  all  very  proper ;  and 
she  was  glad  to  think  that  her  children  were  inclined  to  treat 
their  grand-uncle  with  respect,  in  spite  of  his  long  nose. 

And  then  Gertrude  was  preparing  to  leave  the  room,  but  her 
mother  stopped  her.     "  Gertrude,  dear,"  said  she. 
"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  Come  here,  dearest ;  shut  the  door.  Gertrude,  have  you 
told  Linda  yet  ?" 

"  No,  mamma,  not  yet." 

As  Mrs.  Woodward  asked  the;  question,  there  was  an  inde- 
scribable look  of  painful  emotion  on  her  brow.  It  did  not 
escape  Gertrude's  eye,  and  was  not  to  her  perfectly  unintelligi- 
ble. She  had  conceived  an  idea — why,  she  did  not  know — that 
these  recent  tidings  of  hers  would  not  be  altogether  agreeable 
to  her  sister. 

"  No,  mamma,  I  have  not  told  her ;  of  course  I  told  you  first. 
But  now  I  shall  do  so  immediately." 

"  Let  me  tell  her,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  will  you,  Gertrude  ?" 

"  Oh !  certainly,  mamma,  if  you  wish  it." 

Things  were  going  wrong  with  Mrs.  Woodward.     She  had 

perceived,  with  a  mother's  anxious  eye,  that  her  second  daughter 

was  not  indifferent  to  Alaric  Tudor.     While  she  yet  thought 

that  Norman  and  Gertrude  would  have  suited  each  other,  this 


VERY    SAD.  147 

had  caused  her  no  disquietude.  She  herself  had  entertained 
none  of  those  grand  ideas  to  which  Gertrude  had  given  utter- 
ance with  so  much  sententiousness,  when  she  silenced  Linda's 
tale  of  love  before  the  telling  of  it  had  been  commenced.  Mrs. 
AVoodward  had  always  felt  sufficiently  confident  that  Alaric 
would  push  himself  in  the  world,  and  she  would  have  made  no 
objection  to  him  as  a  son-in-law  had  he  been  contented  to  take 
the  second  instead  of  the  first  of  her  flock. 

She  had  never  spoken  to  Linda  on  the  matter,  and  Linda  had 
offered  to  her  no  confidence  ;  but  she  felt  all  but  sure  that  her 
second  child  would  not  have  entertained  the  aff"ection  which  she 
had  been  unable  altogether  to  conceal,  had  no  lover's  plea  been 
poured  into  her  ears.  Mrs.  Woodward  questioned  her  daugh- 
ters but  little,  but  she  understood  well  the  nature  of  each,  and 
could  nearly  read  their  thoughts.  Linda's  thoughts  it  w^as  not 
difficult  to  read. 

"  Linda,  pet,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  could  get  Linda  into 
her  room  without  absolutely  sending  for  her,  "  you  have  not 
yet  heard  Gertrude's  news  ?" 

"No,"  said  Linda,  turning  very  pale,  and  feeling  that  her 
heart  was  like  to  burst. 

"  I  would  let  no  one  tell  you  but  myself,  Linda.  Come  here, 
dearest ;  don't  stand  there  away  from  me.  Can  you  guess  what 
it  is?" 

Linda,  for  a  moment,  could  not  speak.  "  No,  mamma,"  she 
said  at  last,  "  I  don't  know  what  it  is." 

Mrs.  Woodward  twined  her  arm  round  her  daughter's  waist, 
as  they  sat  on  the  sofa  close  to  each  other.  Linda  tried  to 
compose  herself,  but  she  felt  that  she  was  trembling  in  her 
mother's  arms.  She  would  have  given  anything  to  be  calm ; 
anything  to  hide  her  secret.  She  little  guessed  then  how  well 
her  mother  knew  it.  Her  eyes  were  turned  down,  and  she 
found  that  she  could  not  raise  them  to  her  mother's  face. 

"  No,  mamma,"  she  said.     "  I  don't  know — what  is  it  ?" 

"  Gertrude  is  to  be  married,  Linda.     She  is  engaged." 

"  I  thought  she  refused  Harry,"  said  Linda,  through  whose 
mind  a  faint  idea  was  passing  of  the  cruelty  of  nature's  arrange- 
ments, which  gave  all  the  lovers  to  her  sister. 

"  Yes,  dearest,  she  did,  and  now  another  has  made  an  offer — 
she  has  accepted  him."  Mrs.  Woodward  could  hardly  bring 
herself  to  speak  out  that  which  she  had  to  say,  and  yet  she  felt 
that  she  was  only  prolonging  the  torture  for  which  she  was  so 
anxious  to  find  a  remedv. 


148  THE   THEEE   CLEEKS. 

"  Has  she  ?"  said  Linda,  on  whom  the  full  certainty  of  her 
misery  had  now  all  but  come. 

"  She  has  accepted  our  dear  Alaric." 

Our  dear  Alaric !  what  words  for  Linda's  ears !  They  did 
reach  her  ears,  but  they  did  not  dwell  there — her  soft  gentle 
nature  sank  beneath  the  sound.  Her  mother,  when  she  looked 
to  her  for  a  reply,  found  that  she  was  sinking  through  her  arms. 
Linda  had  fainted. 

Mrs.  Woodward  neither  screamed,  nor  rang  for  assistance, 
nor  emptied  the  water-jug  over  her  daughter,  nor  did  anything 
else  which  would  have  the  effect  of  revealing  to  the  whole 
household  the  fact  that  Linda  had  fainted.  She  had  seen  girls 
faint  before,  and  was  not  frightened.  But  how,  when  Linda 
recovered,  was  she  to  be  comforted?  ^'  ^  ._ 

Mrs.  Woodward  laid  her  gently  on  the  sofa,  undid  her  dress, 
loosened  her  stays,  and  then  sat  by  her  chafing  her  hands,  and 
moistening  her  lips  and  temples,  till  gradually  the  poor  girl's 
eyes  re-opened.  The  recovery  from  a  fainting;^fit^  real  fainting 
lit  L  beg  young  ladies  to  understand,  brings  with  it  a  most  unplea- 
sant sensation,  and'  forTome  minutes  Linda's  sorrow  was  quelled 
by  her  sufferings;  but  as  she  recovered  her  strength  she 
remembered  where  she  was  and  what  had  happened,  and 
sobbing  violently  she  burst  into  an  hysterical  storm  of  teare. 

Her  most  poignant  feeling  now  was  one  of  fear  lest  her 
mother  should  have  guessed  her  secret ;  and  this  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward well  understood.  She  could  do  nothing  towards  comfort- 
ino-  her  child  till  there  was  perfect  confidence  between  them. 
It  was  easy  to  arrive  at  this  with  Linda,  nor  would  it  afterwards 
be  difficult  to  persuade  her  as  to  the  course  she  ought  to  take. 
The  two  girls  were  so  essentially  different ;  the  one  so  eager  to 
stand  alone  and  guide  herself,  the  other  so  prone  to  lean  on  the 
nearest  support  that  came  to  her  hand. 

It  was  not  long  before  Linda  had  told  her  mother  everything. 
Either  by  words,  or  tears,  or  little  signs  of  mute  confession,  she 
made  her  mother  understand,  with  all  but  exactness,  what  had 
passed  between  Alaric  and  herself,  and  quite  exactly  what  had 
been  the  state  of  her  own  heart.  She  sobbed,  and  wept,  and 
looked  up  to  her  mother  for  forgiveness  as  though  she  had  been 
guilty  of  a  great  sin ;  and  when  her  mother  caressed  her  with 
all  a  mother's  tenderness,  and  told  her  that  she  was  absolved 
from  all  fault,  free  of  all  blame,  she  was  to  a  certain  degree 
comforted.  Whatever  might  now  happen,  her  mother  would 
be  on  her  side.     But  Mrs.  Woodward,  when  she  looked  into  the 


VERY    SAD.  149 

matter,  found  that  it  was  slie  that  should  have  demanded 
pardon  of  her  daughter,  not  her  daughter  of  her !  Why  had 
this  tender  lamb  been  allowed  to  wander  out  of  the  fold,  while 
a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  was  invited  into  the  pasture-ground  ? 

Gertrude,  with  her  talent,  her  beauty,  and  dignity  of  demea- 
nor, had  hitherto  been,  perhaps,  the  closest  to  the  mother's 
heart — had  been,  if  not  the  most  cherished,  yet  the  most  valued ; 
Gertrude  had  been  the  apple  of  her  eye.  This  should  be  altered 
now.  If  a  mother's  love  could  atone  for  a  mother's  negligence, 
Mrs.  Woodward  would  atone  to  her  child  for  this  hour  of  misery ! 
And  Katie — her  sweet  bonny  Katie — she,  at  least,  should  be 
protected  from  the  wolves.  Those  were  the  thoughts  that 
passed  through  Mrs.  Woodward's  heart  as  she  sat  there  caress- 
ing Linda. 

But  how  were  things  to  be  managed  now  at  the  present  mo- 
ment ?  It  was  quite  clear  that  the  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  must 
be  admitted  into  the  pastoral  family ;  either  that,  or  the  fairest 
lamb  of  the  flock  must  be  turned  out  altogether,  to  take  upon 
herself  lupine  nature,  and  roam  the  woods  a  beast  of  prey.  As 
matters  stood  it  behoved  them  to  make  such  a  sheep  of  Alaric 
as  might  be  found  practicable. 

And  so  Mrs.  Woodward  set  to  work  to  teach  her  daughter 
hoAv  best  she  might  conduct  herself  in  her  present  state  of 
wretchedness.  She  had  to  bear  with  her  sister's  success,  to 
listen  to  her  sister's  joy,  to  enter  into  all  her  future  plans,  to 
assist  at  her  toilet,  to  prepare  her  wedding  garments,  to 
hear  the  congratulations  of  friends,  and  take  a  sister's  share  in 
a  sister's  triumph,  and  to  do  this  without  once  giving  vent  to  a 
reproach.  And  she  had  worse  than  this  to  do;  she  had  to 
encountei>ATaHcpa;ft44ajwishJbun  of  his  bride;  she  had  to 
protect  "her  female  pride  from  the  disgrace  which  a  hopeless 
but  acknowledged,  love  would  throw  on  it ;  she  had  to  live  in 
the  house  with  Alaric  as  though  he  were  her  brother,  and  as 
though  she  had  never  thought  to  live  with  him  in  any  nearer 
tie.  She  would  have  to  stand  at  the  altar  as  her  sister's  brides- 
maid, and  see  them  married,  and  she  would  have  to  smile  and 
be  cheerful  as  she  did  so. 

This  was  the  lesson  which  Mrs.  Woodward  had  now  to  teach 
her  daughter ;  and  she  so  taught  it  that  Linda  did  all  that  cir- 
cumstances and  her  mother  required  of  her.  Late  on  that 
afternoon,  she  went  to  Gertrude,  and,  kissing  her,  wished  her 
joy.  At  that  moment  Gertrude  was  the  more  embarrassed  of 
the  two. 


150  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"  Linda,  dear  Linda,"  she  said,  embracing  her  sister  convul- 
sively. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  happy,  Gertrude,  with  all  my  heart," 
said  Linda ;  and  so  she  relinquished  her  lover. 

We  talk  about  the  weakness  of  women — and  Linda  Wood- 
ward was,  in  many  a  way,  weak  enough — but  what  man,  what 
giant,  has  strength  equal  to  this  ?  It  was  not  that  her  love  was 
feeble.  Her  heart  was  capable  of  truest  love,  and  she  had  loved 
Alaric  truly.  But  she  had  that  within  her  which  enabled  her 
to  overcome  herself,  and  put  her  own  heart,  and  hopes,  and 
happiness — all  but  her  maiden  pride — into  the  background, 
when  the  hopes  and  happiness  of  another  required  it. 

She  still  shared  the  same  room  with  her  sister ;  and  those 
who  know  how  completely  absorbed  a  girl  is  by  her  first  acknow- 
ledged love,  may  imagine  how  many  questions  she  had  to 
answer,  to  how  many  propositions  she  was  called  on  to  assent,  for 
how  many  schemes  she  had  to  vouchsafe  a  sister's  interest,  while 
her  heart  was  telling  her  that  she  should  have  been  the  ques- 
tioner, she  should  have  been  the  proposer,  that  the  schemes 
should  all  have  been  her  own. 

But  she  bore  it  bravely.  Wlien  Alaric  first  came  down, 
which  he  did  in  the  middle  of  the  week,  she  was,  as  she  told 
her  mother,  too  weak  to  stand  in  his  presence.  Her  mother 
strongly  advised  her  not  to  absent  herself;  so  she  sat  gently  by, 
while  he  kissed  Mrs.  Woodward  and  Katie.  She  sat  and 
trembled,  for  her  turn  she  knew  must  come.  It  did  come; 
Alaric,  with  an  assurance  which  told  more  for  his  courage  than 
for  his  heart,  came  up  to  her,  and  with  a  smiling  face  off'ered 
her  his  hand.  She  rose  up  and  muttered  some  words  which 
she  had  prepared  for  the  occasion,  and  he,  still  holding  her  by 
the  hand,  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  cheek.  Mrs.  Woodward 
looked  on  with  an  angry  flush  on  her  brow,  and  hated  him  for 
his  cold-hearted  propriety  of  demeanor. 

Linda  went  up~  to  her  mother's  room,  and  sitting  on  her 
mother's  bed,  sobbed  herself  into  tranquillity. 

It  was  very  grievous  to  Mrs.  Woodward  to  have  to  welcome 
Alaric  to  her  house.  For  Alaric's  own  sake,  she  would  no 
longer  have  troubled  herself  to  do  so  ;  but  Gertrude  was  still 
her  daughter,  her  dear  child.  Gertrude  had  done  nothing  to 
disentitle  her  to  a  child's  part,  and  a  child's  protection  ;  and 
even  had  she  done  so,  Mrs.  Woodward  was  not  a  woman  to  be 
unforgiving  to  her  child.  For  Gertrude's  sake  she  had  to  make 
Alaric  welcome ;  she  forced  herself  to  smile  on  him  and  call 


VERY    SAD.  151 

'•■ '  ■«» 

him  her  son ;  to  make  him  more  at  home  in  her  house  even 
than  Harry  had  ever  been  ;  to  give  him  privileges  which  he, 
wolf  as  he  w^as,  had  so  little  deserved. 

But  Captain  Cuttwater  made  up  by  the  warmth  of  his  con- 
gratulations for  any  involuntary  coolness  which  Alaric  might 
have  detected  in  those  of  Mrs.  Woodward.  It  had  become  a 
strong  wish  of  the  old  man's  heart  that  he  might  make  Alaric, 
at  any  rate  in  part,  his  heir,  without  doing  an  injustice  to  his 
niece  or  her  family.  He  had  soon  seen  and  appreciated  what 
he  had  called  the  "gumption"  both  of  Gertrude  and  Alaric. 
Had  Harry  married  Gertrude,  and  Alaric  Linda,  he  would  have 
regarded  either  of  those  matches  with  disfavor.  But  now  he 
was  quite  satisfied — now  he  could  look  on  Alaric  as  his  son  and 
Gertrude  as  his  daughter,  and  use  his  money  according  to  his 
fancy,  without  incurring  the  reproaches  of  his  cofiscience. 

"  Quite  right,  my  boy,"  he  said  to  Alaric,  slapping  him  on 
the  back  at  the  same  time  with  pretty  nearly  all  his  power — 
"  quite  right.  Didn't  I  know  you  were  the  winning  horse  ? — 
didn't  I  tell  you  how  it  would  be  ?  Do  you  think  I  don't  know 
what  gumption  means  ?  If  I  had  not  had  my  own  weather- 
eye  open,  ay,  and  d wide   open,  the  most  of  my  time,  I 

shouldn't  have  two  or  three  thousand  pounds  to  give  away 
now  to  any  young  fellow  that  I  take  a  fancy  to." 

Alaric  was,  of  course,  all  smiles  and  good-humor,  and 
Gertrude  not  less  so.  The  day  after  he  heard  of  the  engage- 
ment IJDcle  Bat  went  to  town,  and,  on  his  return,  he  gave 
Gertrude  £100  to  buy  her  wedding-clothes,  and  half  that  sum 
to  her  mother,  in  order  that  the  thing  might  go  off,  as  he 
expressed  himself,  "slip-slap,  and  no  mistake."  To  Linda  he 
gave  nothing,  but  promised  her  that  he  would  not  forget  her 
when  her  time  came. 

All  this  time  Norman  was  at  Normansgrove  ;  but  there  were 
three  of  the  party  who  felt  that  it  behoved  them  to  let  him 
know  what  was  going  on.  Mrs.  Woodward  wrote  first,  and  on 
the  following  day  both  Gertrude  and  Alaric  wrote  to  him,  the 
former  from  Hampton,  and  the  latter  from  his  office  in  London. 

All  these  letters  were  much  labored,  but,  with  all  this  labor, 
not  one  of  them  contained  within  it  a  grain  of  comfort.  That 
from  Mrs.  Woodward  came  first  and  told  the  tale.  Strange  to 
say,  though  Harry  had  studiously  rejected  from  his  mind  all 
idea  of  hope  as  regarded  Gertrude,  nevertheless  the  first  tidings 
of  her  betrothal  with  Alaric  struck  him  as  though  he  had  still 
fancied  himself  a  favored  lover.      He  felt  as  though,  in   his 


152  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

absence,  he  had  been  robbed  of  a  prize  which  was  all  his  own ; 
as  though  a  chattel  had  been  taken  from  him  to  which  he  had 
a  full  right ;  as  though  all  the  Hampton  party,  Mrs.  Woodward 
included,  were  in  a  conspiracy  to  defraud  him  the  moment  his 
back  was  turned. 

The  blow  was  so  severe  that  it  laid  him  prostrate  at  once. 
He  could  not  sob  away  his  sorrow  on  his  mother's  bosom  ;  no 
one  could  teach  him  how  to  bear  his  grief  with  meek  resigna- 
tion. He  had  never  spoken  of  his  love  to  his  friends  at 
Normansgrove.  They  had  all  been  witnesses  to  his  deep 
disappointment,  but  that  had  been  attributed  to  his  failure  at 
his  office.  He  was  not  a  man  to  seek  for  sympathy  in  the 
sorrows  of  his  heart.  He  had  told  Alaric  of  his  rejection, 
because  he  had  already  told  him  of  his  love,  but  he  had  whis- 
pered no  word  of  it  to  any  one  besides.  On  the  day  on  which 
he  received  Mrs.  Woodward's  letter,  he  appeared  at  dinner 
ghastly  pale,  and  evidently  so  ill  as  to  be  all  but  unable  to  sit 
at  table  :  but  he  would  say  nothing  to  anybody  ;  he  sat  brood- 
ing over  his  grief  till  he  was  unable  to  sit  any  longer. 

And  yet  Mrs.  Woodward  had  written  with  all  her  skill,  with 
all  her  heart  striving  to  pluck  the  sting  away  from  the  tidings 
which  she  had  to  communicate.  She  had  felt,  however,  that 
she  owed  as  much,  at  least,  to  her  daughter  as  she  did  to  him, 
and  she  failed  to  call  Alaric  peijured,  false,  dishonored,  unjust, 
disgraced,  and  treacherous.  Nothing  short  of  her  doing  so 
would  have  been  deemed  by  Norman  fitting  mention  of 
Tudor's  sin ;  nothing  else  would  have  satisfied  the  fury  of  his 
wrath. 

On  the  next  morning  he  received  Gertrude's  letter  and 
Alaric's.  The  latter  he  never  read — he  opened  it,  saw  that  it 
began  as  usual,  "My  dear  Harry,"  and  then  crammed  it  into 
his  pocket.  By  return  of  post  it  went  back  under  a  blank  cover, 
addressed  to  Alaric  at  the  Weights  an^  Measures.  The  days 
of  duelling  were  gone  by — unfortunately,  as  Norman  now 
thought,  but  nothing,  he  determined,  should  ever  induce  him 
again  to  hold  friendly  intercourse  with  the  traitor.  He  abstained 
from  making  any  such  oath  as  to  the  Woodwards ;  but  deter- 
mined that  his  conduct  in  that  respect  should  be  governed  by 
the  manner  in  which  Alaric  was  received  by  them. 

But  Gertrude's  letter  he  read  over  and  over  again,  and  each 
time  he  did  so  he  indulged  in  a  fresh  burst  of  hatred  against 
the  man  who  had  deceived  him.  "  A  dishonest  villain  !  "  he 
said  to  himself  over  and  over  again  ;  "  what  right  had  I  to  sup- 


VERY    SAD.  153 

pose  lie  would  be  true  to  me  when  I  found  that  he  had  been  so 
false  to  others  ?  " 

"  Dearest  Harry,"  the  letter  began.  Dearest  Harry  ! — Why 
should  she  begin  with  a  lie  ?  He  was  not  dearest !  "  You  must 
not,  must  not,  must  not,  be  angry  with  Alaric,"  she  went  on  to 
say,  as  soon  as  she  had  told  her  tale.  Oh,  must  he  not  ?  Not 
be  angry  with  Alaric !  Not  angry  with  the  man  who  had 
forgotten  every  law  of  honor,  every  principle  of  honesty,  every 
tie  of  friendship  !  Not  angry  with  the  man  whom  he  had  trusted 
with  the  key  of  his  treasure,  and  who  had  then  robbed  him  ; 
who  had  stolen  from  him  all  his  contentment,  all  his  joy,  his 
very  heart's  blood  ;  not  angry  with  him  ! 

"  Our  happiness  will  never  be  perfect  unless  you  will  consent 
to  share  it."  Thus  simply,  in  the  affection  of  her  heart,  had 
Gertrude  concluded  the  letter  by  which  she  intended  to  pour 
balm  into  the  wounds  of  her  rejected  lover,  and  pave  the  way 
for  the  smoothing  of  such  difficulties  as  might  still  lie  in  the 
way  of  her  love. 

"  Their  happiness  would  not  be  perfect  unless  he  would  con- 
sent to  share  it."  Every  word  in  the  sentence  was  gall  to  him. 
It  must  have  been  written  with  the  object  of  lacerating  his 
wounds,  and  torturing  his  spirit ;  so  at  least  said  Norman  to 
himself.  He  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again.  At  one  time 
he  resolved  to  keep  it  till  he  could  thrust  it  back  into  her  hand, 
and  prove  to  her  of  what  cruelty  she  had  been  guilty.  Then 
he  thought  of  sending  it  to  Mrs.  Woodward,  and  asking  her 
how,  after  that,  could  she  think  that  he  should  ever  again  enter 
her  doors  at  Hampton.  Finally  he  tore  it  into  a  thousand  bits, 
and  threw  them  behind  the  fire. 

"  Share  their  happiness  !  "  and  as  he  repeated  the  words  he 
gave  the  last  tear  to  the  fragments  of  paper  which  he  still  held 
in  his  hand.  Could  he  at  that  moment  as  easily  have  torn 
to  shreds  all  hope  of  earthly  joy  for  those  two  lovers,  he  would 
then  have  done  it,  and  cast  the  ruins  to  the  flames. 

Oh  !  what  a  lesson  he  might  have  learnt  from  Linda.  And 
yet  what  were  his  injuries  to  hers?  He  in  fact  had  not  been 
injured,  at  least  not  by  him  against  whom  the  strength  of  his 
wrath  most  fiercely  raged.  The  two  men  had  both  admired 
Gertrude,  but  Norman  had  started  on  the  race  first.  Before 
Alaric  had  had  time  to  know  his  own  mind,  he  had  learnt  that 
Norman  claimed  the  beauty  as  his  own.  He  had  acknowledged 
to  himself  that  Norman  had  a  right  to  do  so,  and  had  scrupu- 
lously  abstained   from    interfering    with    him.     Why   should 


154  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

Norman,  like  a  dog  in  the  manger,  begrudge  to  his  friend  tlie 
fodder  which  he  himself  could  not  enjoy  ?  To  him,  at  any  rate, 
Alaric  had  in  this  been  no  traitor.  'Twas  thus  at  least  that 
Gertrude  argued  in  her  heart,  and  'twas  thus  that  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward tried  to  argue  also. 

But  what  could  excuse  Alaric's  falseness  to  Linda  ?     And  yet 
Linda  had  forgiven  him. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

NOHMAN    RETURNS    TO    TOWN. 

Harry  Norman  made  no  answer  to  either  of  his  three  letters, 
beyond  that  of  sending  Alaric's  back  unread  ;  but  this,  without 
other  reply,  was  sufficient  to  let  them  all  guess,  nearly  with  accu- 
racy, what  was  the  state  of  his  mind.  Alaric  told  Gertrude  how 
his  missive  had  been  treated,  and  Gertrude,  of  course,  told  her 
mother. 

There  was  very  little  of  that  joy  at  Surbiton  Cottage  which 
should  have  been  the  forerunner  of  a  wedding.  None  of  the 
Woodward  circle  were  content  thus  to  lose  their  friend.  And 
then  their  unhappiness  on  this  score  was  augmented  by  hearing 
that  Harry  had  sent  up  a  medical  certificate,  instead  of  returning 
to  his  duties  when  his  prolonged  leave  of  absence  was  expired. 

To  Alaric  this,  at  the  moment,  was  a  relief.  He  had  dreaded 
the  return  of  Norman  to  London.  There  were  so  many  things  to 
cause  infinite  pain  to  them  both.  All  Norman's  things — his 
books  and  clothes,  his  desks  and  papers  and  pictures,  his  whips 
and  sticks,  and  all  those  sundry  belongings  which  even  a  bachelor 
collects  around  him — were  strewing  the  rooms  in  which  Alaric 
still  lived.  He  had,  of  course,  felt  that  it  was  impossible  that 
they  should  ever  again  reside  together.  Not  only  must  they 
quarrel,  but  all  the  men  at  their  office  must  know  that  they  had 
quarrelled.  And  yet  some  intercourse  must  be  maintained  be- 
tween them  ;  they  must  daily  meet  in  the  rooms  at  the  Weights 
and  Measures  ;  and  it  would  now  in  their  altered  position  become 
necessary  that  in  some  things  Noi;jman  should  receive  instructions 
from  Alaric  as  his"superior  officer.  But  if  Alaric  thought  of  this 
often,  so  did  Norman  ;  and  before  the  last  fortnight  had  expired 
the  thinking  of  it  had  made  him  so  ill,  that  his  immediate  return 
to  London  was  out  of  the  question. 

Mrs.  Woodward's  heart  melted  within  her,  when  she  heard 
that  Harry  was  really  ill.     She  had  gone  on  waiting  day  after 


NORMAN   RETURNS   TO   TOWN.  155 

day  for  an  answer  to  her  letter,  but  no  answer  came.  No  answer 
came,  but  in  lieu  thereof  she  heard  that  Harry  was  laid  up  at 
Normansgrove.  She  heard  it,  and  Gertrude  heard  it,  and  in 
spite  of  the  coming  wedding  there  was  very  little  joy  at  Surbiton 
Cottage. 

And  then  Mrs.  Woodward  wrote  again ;  and  a  man  must 
have  had  a  heart  of  stone  not  to  be  moved  by  such  a  letter. 
She  had  "heard,"  she  said,  "that  he  was  ill,  and  the  tidings  had 
made  her  wretched — the  more  so,  inasmuch  as  he  had  sent  no 
answer  to  her  last  letter.  Was  he  very  ill  ?  was  he  dangerously 
ill  ?  She  hoped,  she  would  fain  hope,  that  his  illness  had  not 
arisen  from  any  mental  grief.  If  he  did  not  reply  to  this,  or  get 
some  of  his  family  to  do  so,  there  would  be  nothing  for  her  but 
to  go,  herself,  to  Normansgrove.  She  could  not  remain  quiet 
while  she  was  left  in  such  painful  doubt  about  her  dearest,  well- 
beloved  Harry  Norman."  How  to  speak  of  Gertrude,  or  how 
not  to  speak  of  her,  Mrs.  Woodward  knew  not — at  last,  she 
added  :  "  The  three  girls  send  their  kindest  love  ;  they  are  all 
as  wretchedly  anxious  as  I  am.  I  know  you  are  too  good  to 
wish  that  poor  Gertrude  should  suffer;  but,  if  you  did,  you 
might  have  your  wish.  The  tidings  of  your  illness,  together 
with  3^our  silence,  have  robbed  her  of  all  her  happiness ;"  and  it 
ended  thus  : — "  Dearest  Harry  !  do  not  be  cruel  to  us  ;  our 
hearts  are  all  with  you." 

This  was  too  much  for  Norman's  sternness  ;  and  he  relented, 
at  least  as  far  as  Mrs.  Woodward  was  concerned.  He  wrote  to 
say  that  though  he  was  still  weak,  he  was  not  dangerously  ill ; 
and  that  he  intended,  if  nothing  occurred  amiss,  to  be  in  town 
about  the  end  of  the  year.  He  hoped  he  might  then  see  her  to 
thank  her  for  all  her  kindness.  She  would  understand  that  he 
could  not  go  down  to  Surbiton  Cottage ;  but  as  she  would 
doubtless  have  some  occasion  for  coming  up  to  town,  they  might 
thus  contrive  to  meet.  He  then  sent  his  love  to  Linda  and 
Katie,  and  ended  by  saying  that  he  had  written  to  Charley 
Tudor  to  take  lodgings  for  him.  Not  the  slightest  allusion  was 
made  either  to  Gertrude  or  Alaric,  except  that  which  might  seem 
to  be  conveyed  in  the  intimation  that  he  could  make  no  more 
visits  to  Hampton. 

This  letter  was  very  cold.  It  just  permitted  Mrs.  Woodward 
to  know  that  Norman  did  not  regard  them  all  as  strangers  :  and 
that  was  all.  Linda  said  it  was  very  sad  ;  and  Gertrude  said, 
not  to  her  mother,  but  to  Alaric,  that  it  was  heartless.  Captain 
Cuttwater  predicted  that  he  would  soon  come  round,  and  be  as 


156  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

sound  as  a  roacli  again  in  six  months'  time.  Alaric  said  notliing ; 
but  he  went  on  with  his  wooing,  and  this  he  did  so  successfully, 
as  to  make  Gertrude  painfully  alive  to  what  would  have  been, 
in  her  eyes,  the  inferiority  of  her  lot,  had  she  unfortunately  al- 
lowed herself  to  become  the  victim  of  Norman's  love. 

Alaric  went  on  with  his  wooing,  and  he  also  went  on  with 
his  share-buying.  Undy  Scott  had  returned  to  town  for  a 
week  or  two  to  wind  up  the  aflPairs  of  his  expiring  secretary- 
ship, and  he  made  Alaric  understand  that  a  nice  thing  might 
yet  be  done  in  Mary  Janes.  x\laric  had  been  very  foolish  to 
sell  so  quickly ;  so  at  least  said  Undy.  To  this  Alaric  replied 
that  he  had  bought  the  shares  thoughtlessly,  and  had  felt  a 
desire  to  get  rid  of  them  as  quickly  as  he  could.  Those  were 
scruples  at  which  Undy  laughed  pleasantly,  and  Alaric  soon 
laughed  with  him. 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Undy,  "  your  report  is  written,  and  off 
your  hands  now  :  so  you  may  do  what  you  please  in  the  matter, 
like  a  free  man,  with  a  safe  conscience." 

Alaric  supposed  that  he  might. 

"  I  am  as  fond  of  the  Civil  Service  as  any  man,"  said  Undy ; 
"just  as  fond  of  it  as  Sir  Gregory  himself.  I  have  been  in  it, 
and  may  be  in  it  again.  If  I  do,  I  shall  do  my  duty.  But  I 
have  no  idea  of  having  my  hands  tied.  My  purse  is  my  own, 
to  do  what  I  like  with  it.  Whether  I  buy  beef  or  mutton,  or 
shares  in  Cornwall,  is  nothing  to  any  one.  I  give  the  Crown 
what  it  pays  for^^  my  five  or  six  hours  a  day,  and  nothing  more. 
When  I  was  appointed  private  secretary  to  the  First  Lord  of 
the  Stannaries,  I  told  my  friend  AATiip  Vigil  that  those  were 
the  terms  on  which  I  accepted  office ;  and  Vigil  agreed  with 
me."  Alaric,  pupil  as  he  was  to  the  great  Sir  Gregory, 
declared  that  he  also  agreed  with  him.  "  That  is  not  Sir 
Gregory's  doctrine,  but  it's  mine,"  said  Undy ;  "  and  though 
it's  my  own,  I  think  it  by  far  the  honester  doctrine  of  the 
two." 

Alaric  did  not  sift  the  matter  very  deeply,  nor  did  he  ask 
Undy,  or  himself  either,  whether  in  using  the  contents  of  his 
purse  in  the  purchase  of  shares  he  would  be  justified  in  turning 
to  his  own  purpose  any  information  which  he  might  obtain  in 
his  official  career.  Nor  did  he  again  off'er  to  put  that  broad 
test  to  himself  which  he  had  before  proposed,  and  ask  himself 
whether  he  would  dare  to  talk  of  what  he  was  doing  in  the 
face  of  day,  in  his  own  office,  before  Sir  Gregory,  or  before  the 
Neverbends  of  the  Service.     He  had  already  learnt  the  absnr- 


NORMA N   RETURNS   TO   TOWN.  157 

dity  of  such  tests.  Did  other  men  talk  of  such  doings  ?  Was 
it  not  notorious  that  the  world  speculated,  and  that  the  world 
was  generally  silent  in  the  matter  ?  Why  should  he  attempt 
to  be  wiser  than  those  around  him  ?  was  it  not  sufficient  for 
him  to  be  wise  in  his  generation  ?  What  man  had  ever  become 
great,  who  allowed  himself  to  be  impeded  by  small  scruples  ? 
If  the  sportsman  returned  from  the  field  laden  with  game,  who 
would  scrutinise  the  mud  on  his  gaiters  ?  "  Excelsior !"  said 
Alaric  to  himself  with  a  proud  ambition  ;  and  so  ho  attempted 
to  rise  by  the  purchase  and  sale  of  mining  shares. 

When  he  was  fairly  engaged  in  the  sport,  his  style  of  play 
so  fascinated  Undy  that  they  embarked  in  a  sort  of  partner- 
ship, 2'>^'o  hdc  vice,  good  to  the  last  during  the  ups  and  downs  of 
AVheal  Mary  Jane.  Mary  Jane,  no  doubt,  would  soon  run  dry, 
or  else  be  drowned,  as  had  happened  to  N^w.  Friendship.  But 
in  the  mean  time  something  might  be  done. 

"  Of  course  you'll  be  consulted  about  those  other  papers," 
said  Undy.  "  It  might  be  as  well  they  should  be  kept  back  for 
a  wef^k  or  two." 

"  Well,  I'll  see,"  said  Alaric ;  and  as  he  said  it,  he  felt  that 
his  face  was  tinged  with  a  blush  of  shame.  But  what  then  ? 
who  would  look  at  the  dirt  on  his  gaiters,  if  he  filled  his  bag 
with  game  ? 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  no  whit  angered  by  the  coldness  of 
Norman's  letter.  She  wished  that  he  could  have  brought  him- 
self to  write  in  a  different  style,  but  she  remembered  his  grief, 
and  knew  that  as  time  should  work  its  cure  upon  it,  he  w^ould 
come  round  and  again  be  gentle  and  affectionate,  at  any  rate 
with  her. 

She  misdoubted  Charley's  judgment  in  the  choice  of  lodg- 
ings, and  therefore  she  talked  over  the  matter  with  Alaric.  It 
was  at  last  decided  that  he,  Alaric,  should  move,  instead  of 
driving  Norman  away.  His  final  movement  would  soon  take 
place ;  that  movement  which  would  rob  him  of  the  freedom  of 
lodginghood,  and  invest  him  with  all  the  ponderous  responsi- 
bihty  and  close  restraint  of  a  householder.  He  and  Gertrude 
were  to  be  married  in  February,  and  after  spending  a  cold 
honeymoon  in  Paris  and  Brussels,  were  to  begin  their  married 
life  amidst  the  sharp  winds  of  a  London  March.  But  love, 
gratified  love,  will,  we  believe,  keep  out  even  an  English  east 
wind.     If  so,  it  is  certainly  the  only  thing  that  will. 

Charley,  therefore,  wrote  to  Norman,  telling  him  that  he  could 
remain  in  his  old  homo,  and  humbly  asking  permission  to  re- 


158  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

main  there  with  him.  To  this  request  he  received  a  kind 
rejoinder  in  the  affirmative.  Though  Charley  was  related  to 
Alaric,  there  had  always  apparently  been  a  closer  friendship  be- 
tween him  and  Norman  than  between  the  two  cousins  ;  and  now, 
in  his  fierce  unbridled  quarrel  with  Alaric,  and  in  his  present 
coolness  with  the  Woodwards,  he  seemed  to  turn  to  Charley 
with  more  than  ordinary  affection. 

Norman  made  his  appearance  at  the  office  on  the  first  Mon- 
day of  the  new  year.  He  had  hitherto  sat  at  the  same  desk 
with  Alaric,  each  of  them  occupying  one  side  of  it ;  on  his  re- 
turn he  found  himself  opposite  to  a  stranger.  Alaric  had,  of 
course,  been  promoted  to  a  room  of  his  own. 

The  Weights  and  Measures  had  never  been  a  noisy  office ; 
but  now  it  became  more  silent  than  ever.  Men  there  talked  but 
little  at  any  time,  and  now  they  seemed  to  cease  from  talking 
altogether.  It  was  known  to  all  that  the  Damon  and  Pythias 
of  the  establishment  were  Damon  and  Pythias  no  longer ;  that 
war  waged  between  them,  and  that  if  all  accounts  were  true, 
they  were  ready  to  fly  each  at  the  other's  throat.  Some  at- 
tributed this  to  the  competitive  examination ;  others  said  it  was 
love ;  others  declared  that  it  was  money,  the  root  of  evil  ;  and 
one  rash  young  gentlemen  stated  his  positive  knowledge  that  it 
was  all  three.  At  any  rate  something  dreadful  was  expected  ; 
and  men  sat  anxious  at  their  desks,  fearing  the  coming  evil. 

On  the  Monday  the  two  men  did  not  meet,  nor  on  the  Tues- 
day. On  the  next  morning,  Alaric,  having  acknowledged  to 
himself  the  necessity  of  breaking  the  ice,  walked  into  the  room 
where  Norman  sat  with  three  or  four  others.  It  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  he  should,  make  some  arrangement  with  him  as 
to  a  certain  branch  of  office-work ;  and  though  it  was  competent 
for  him,  as  the  superior,  to  have  sent  for  Norman  as  the  inferior, 
he  thought  it  best  to  abstain  from  doing  so,  even  though  he 
were  thereby  obliged  to  face  his  enemy,  for  the  first  time,  in  the 
presence  of  others. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Embryo,"  said  he,  speaking  to  the  new  junior, 
and  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire  in  an  easy  way,  as  though 
there  was  nothing  wrong  under  the  sun,  or  at  least  nothing  at  the 
Weights  and  Measures,  "  well,  Mr.  Embryo,  how  do  you  get  on 
with  those  calculations  ?" 

"  Pretty  well,  I  believe,  sir ;  I  think  I  begin  to  understand 
them  now,"  said  the  tyro,  producing  for  Alaric's  gratification 
five  or  six  folio  sheets,  covered  with  intricate  masses  of  figures. 

"Ah!  yes;  that  will  do  very  well,"  said   Alaric,  taking  up 


NOEMAN    RETUKNS   TO    TOWN.  159 

one  of  the  sheets,  and  looking  at  it  with  an  assumed  air  of 
great  interest.  Though  he  acted  his  part  pretty  well,  his  mind 
was  very  far  removed  from  Mr.  Embryo's  etforts. 

Norman  sat  at  his  desk,  as  black  as  a  thunder  cloud,  with  his 
eyes  turned  intently  at  the  paper  before  him ;  but  so  agitated 
that  he  could  not.  even  pretend  to  write. 

"  By  the  by,  Norman,"  said  Alaric,  "  when  will  it  suit  you  to 
look  through  those  Scotch  papers  with  me  ?" 

"  My  name,  sir,  is  Mr.  Norman,"  said  Harry,  getting  up  and 
standing  by  his  chair  with  all  the  firmness  of  a  Paladin  of  old. 

"  AVith  all  my  heart,"  said  Alaric.  "  In  speaking  to  you  I 
can  have  but  one  wish,  and  that  is  to  do  so  in  any  way  that  may 
best  please  you." 

"  Any  instructions  yon  may  have  to  give  I  will  attend  to,  as 
far  as  my  duty  goes,"  said  Norman. 

And  then  Alaric,  pushing  Mr.  Embryo  from  his  chair  with- 
out much  ceremony,  sat  down  opposite  to  his  former  friend,  and 
said  and  did  what  he  had  to  say  and  do  with  an  easy  unaffected 
air,  in  which  there  was,  at  any  rate,  none  of  the  usual  super- 
ciliousness of  a  neophyte's  authority.  Norman  was  too  agitated 
to  speak  reasonably,  or  to  listen  calmly,  but  Alaric  knew  that 
though  he  might  not  do  so  to-day,  he  would  to-morrow,  or  if 
not  to-morrow,  then  the  next  day ;  and  so  from  day  to  day  he 
came  into  Norman's  room  and  transacted  his  business.  Mr. 
Embryo  got  accustomed  to  looking  through  the  window  at  the 
Council  Office  for  the  ten. minutes  that  he  remained  there,  and 
Norman  also  became  reconciled  to  the  custom.  And  thus, 
though  they  never  met  in  any  other  way,  they  daily  had  a  kind 
of  intercourse  with  each  other,  which,  at  last,  contrived  to  get 
itself  arranged  into  a  certain    amount  of  civility  on  both  sides. 

Immediately  that  Norman's  arrival  was  heard  of  at  Surbiton 
Cottage,  Mrs.  Woodward  hastened  up  to  town  to  see  him.  She 
wrote  to  him  to  say  that  she  would  be  at  his  lodgings  at  a 
certain  hour,  and  begged  him  to  come  thither  to  her.  Of  course 
he  did  not  refuse,  and  so  they  met.  Mrs.  Woodward  had  much 
doubted  whether  or  no  she  would  take  Linda  or  Katie  with  her, 
but  at  last  she  resolved  to  go  alone.  Harry,  she  thought,  would 
be  more  willing  to  speak  freely  to  her,  to  open  his  heart  to  her, 
if  there  were  nobody  by  but  herself. 

Their  meeting  was  very  touching  and  characteristic  of  the 
two  persons.  Mrs.  Woodward  was  sad  enough,  but  her  sadness 
was  accompanied  by  a  strength  of  affection  that  carried  before 
it  every  obstacle.     Norman  was  also  sad  ;  but  he  was  at  first 


160  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

stern  and  cold,  and  would  have  remained  so  to  the  last,  had  not 
his  manly  anger  been  overpowered  by  her  feminine  tenderness. 

It  was  singular,  but  not  the  less  true,  that  at  this  period  Nor- 
man appeared  to  have  forgotten  altogether  that  he  had  ever 
proposed  to  Gertrude,  and  been  rejected  by  her.  All  that  he 
said  and  all  that  he  thought  was  exactly  what  he  might  have 
said  and  thought  had  Alaric  taken  from  him  his  affianced  bride. 
No  suitor  had  ever  felt  his  suit  to  be  more  hopeless  than  he  had 
done ;  and  yet  he  now  regarded  himself  as  one  whose  high 
hopes  of  happy  love  had  all  been  destroyed  by  the  treacheiy 
of  a  friend  and  the  fickleness  of  a  woman. 

This  made  the  task  of  appeasing  him  very  difficult  to  Mrs. 
Woodward.  She  could  not  in  plain  language  remind  him  that 
he  had  been  plainly  rejected  ;  nor  could  she,  on  the  other  hand, 
permit  her  daughter  to  be  branded  with  a  fault  of  which  she 
had  never  been  guilty. 

Mrs.  Woodward  had  wished,  though  she  had  hardly  hoped, 
so  to  mollify  Norman  as  to  induce  him  to  promise  to  be  at  the 
wedding ;  but  she  soon  found  that  this  was  out  of  the  question. 
There  was  no  mitigating  his  anger  against  Alaric. 

"  Mrs.  Woodward,"  said  he,  standing  very  upright,  and  look- 
ing very  stiff,  "  I  will  never  again  willingly  put  myself  in  any 
position  where  I  must  meet  him." 

"  Oh !  Harry,  don't  say  so — think  of  your  close  friendship, 
think  of  your  long  friendship." 

"  Why  did  he  not  think  of  it  ? " 

"  But,  Harry — if  not  for  his  sake,  if  not  for  your  own,  at  any 
rate  do  so  for  ours ;  for  m;  sake,  for  Katie's  and  Linda's,  for 
Gertrude's  sake." 

"  I  had  rather  not  speak  of  Gertrude,  Mrs.  Woodward." 

"Ah!  Harry,  Gertrude  has  done  you  no  injury;  why  should 
you  thus  turn  your  heart  against  her  ?  You  should  not  blame 
her ;  if  you  have  any  one  to  blame,  it  is  me." 

"  No  ;  you  have  been  true  to  me." 

"  And  has  she  been  false  ?  Oh  !  Harry,  think  how  we  have 
loved  you  !     You  should  be  more  just  to  us." 

"Tush  !"  he  said.  "I  do  not  believe  in  justice;  there  is  no 
justice  left.  I  would  have  given  everything  I  had  for  him.  I 
would  have  made' any  sacrifice.  His  happiness  was  as  much  my 
thought  as  my  own.  And  now — and  yet  you  talk  to  me  of 
justice." 

"  And  if  he  had  injured  you,  Harry,  would  you  not  forgive 
him  ?     Do  you  repeat  your  prayers  without  thinking  of  them  ? 


THE   FIRST    WEDDIN(i.  •  161 

Do  you  not  wish  to  forgive  them  that  trespass  against  you  ?  " 
Norman  groaned  inwardly  in  the  spirit.  "  Do  you  not  think  of 
this  when  you  kneel  every  night  before  your  God  ?  " 

"There  are  injuries  which  a  man  cannot  forgive,  is  not 
expected  to  forgive." 

"  Are  there,  Harry  ?  Oh  !  that  is  a  dangerous  doctrine.  In 
that  way  every  man  might  nurse  his  own  wrath  till  anger  would 
make  devils  of  us  all.     Our  Saviour  has  made  no  exceptions." 

"  In  one  sense,  I  do  forgive  him,  Mrs.  Woodward.  I  wish 
him  no  evil.  But  it  is  impossible  that  I  should,  call  a  man  who 
has  so  injured  me  my  friend.  I  look  upon  him  as  disgraced 
for  ever." 

She  then  endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  see  Gertrude,  or  at 
any  rate  to  send  his  love  to  her.  But  in  this  also,  he  was 
obdurate.  "  It  could,"  he  said,  "  do  no  good."  He  could  not 
answer  for  himself  that  his  feelings  would  not  betray  him.  A 
message  would  be  of  no  use  ;  if  true,  it  would  not  be  gracious ; 
if  false,  it  had  better  be  avoided.  He  was  quite  sure  Gertrude 
would  be  indiflferent  as  to  any  message  from  him.  The  best 
thing  for  them  both  would  be  that  they  should  forget  each 
other. 

He  promised,  however,  that  he  would  go  down  to  Hampton 
immediately  after  the  marriage,  and  he  sent  his  kindest  love  to 
Linda  and  Katie.  "  And,  dear  Mrs.  Woodward,"  said  he,  "  I 
know  you  think  me  very  harsh,  I  know  you  think  me  vindictive — 
but  pray,  pray  believe  that  I  understand  all  your  love,  and 
acknowledge  all  your  goodness.  The  time  will,  perhaps,  come 
when  we  shall  be  as  happy  together  as  we  once  were." 

Mrs.  Woodward,  trying  to  smile  through  her  tears,  could  only 
say  that  she  would  pray  that  that  time  might  soon  come ;  and 
so,  bidding  God  bless  him,  as  a  mother  might  bless  her  child, 
she  left  him  and  returned  to  Hampton,  not  with  a  light  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  FIRST  WEDDING. 


In  spite,  however,  of  JSTorman  and  his  anger,  on  a  cold  snowy 
morning  in  the  month  of  February,  Gertrude  stood  at  the  altaiv 
in  Hampton  Church,  a  happy,  trusting  bride,  and  Linda  stood 
smiling  behind  her,  the  lovely  leader  of  the  nuptial  train.  Nor 
were  Linda's  smiles  false  or  forced,  much  less  treacherous. 
She  had  taught  herself  to  look  on  Alaric  as  her  sister's  husband, 


162  THE  THEEE   CLEEKS. 

and  tliough  in  doing  so  she  had  suffered,  and  did  still  suffer,  she 
now  thought  of  her  own  lost  lover  in  no  other  guise. 

A  housemaid,  not  long  since,  who  was  known  in  the  family 
in  which  she  lived  to  be  affianced  to  a  neighboring  gardener, 
came  weeping  to  her  mistress. 

"  Oh,  ma'am  !" 

"  Why,  Susan,  what  ails  you  ?" 

«  Oh,  ma'am  !" 

"  Well,  Susan — what  is  it  ? — why  are  you  crying  ?" 

"  Oh,  ma'am— John  !" 

"  Well — what  of  John  ?     I  hope  he  is  not  misbehaving." 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  he  is  then ;  the  worst  of  misbehavior ;  for 
he's  gone  and  got  hisself  married."  And  poor  Susan  gave  vent 
to  a  flood  of  tears. 

Her  mistress  tried  to  comfort  her,  and  not  in  vain.  She  told 
her  that  probably  she  might  be  better  as  she  was  ;  that  John, 
seeing  what  he  had  done,  must  be  a  false  creature,  who  would 
undoubtedly  have  used  her  ill ;  and  she  ended  her  good  counsel 
by  trying  to  make  Susan  understand  that  there  were  still  as 
good  fish  in  the  sea  as  had  ever  yet  been  caught  out  of  it. 

"  And  that's  true  too,  ma'am,"  said  Susan,  with  her  apron  to 
her  eyes. 

"  Then  you  should  not  be  downhearted,  you  know." 

"  Nor  I  han't  down'arted,  ma'am,  for  thank  God  I  could  love 
any  man ;  but  it's  the  looks  on  it,  ma'am  ;  it's  that  I  mind." 

How  many  of  us  areTTiefeT'woSQen  and  men  too,  who  think 
most  of  the  "  looks  of  it"  under  such  circumstances ;  and  who, 
were  we  as  honest  as  poor  Susan,  ought  to  thank  God,  as  she 
did,  that  we  can  love  any  one  ;  any  one  that  is  of  the  other  sex. 
We  are  not  all  of  us  susceptible  of  being  torn  to  tatters  by  an 
unhappy  passion ;  not  even  all  those  of  us  who  may  be  sus- 
ceptible of  a  true  and  honest  love.  And  it  is  well  that  it  is  so. 
It  is  one  of  God's  mercies  ;  and  if  we  were  as  wise  as  Susan,  we 
should  thank  God  for  it. 

Linda  was,  perhaps,  one  of  those.  She  was  good,  affectionate, 
tender,  and  true.  But  she  was  made  of  that  stuflf  which  can 
bend  to  the  north  wind.  The  world  was  not  all  over  with  her 
because  a  man  had  been  untrue  to  her.  She  had  had  her  grief, 
.and  had  been  told  to  meet  it  like  a  Christian  ;  she  had  been 
obedient  to  the  telling,  and  now  felt  the  good  result.  So  when 
Gertrude  was  married,  she  stood  smiling  behind  her ;  and  when 
her  new  brother-in-law  kissed  her  in  the  vestry-room,  she  smiled 
again,  and  honestly  wished  them  happiness. 


THE   FIRST   WEDDING.  163 

And  Katie  was  there,  very  pretty  and  bonny,  still  cliildish, 
with  her  short  dress  and  long  trousers,  but  looking  as  though 
she,  too,  would  soon  feel  the  strength  of  her  own  wings,  and  be 
able  to  fly  away  from  her  mother's  nest.  Dear  Katie !  Her 
story  has  yet  to  be  told.  To  her  belongs  neither  the  soft  easi- 
ness of  her  sister  Linda  nor  the  sterner  dignity  of  Gertrude. 
But  she  has  a  character  of  her  own,  which  contains,  perhaps, 
higher  qualities  than  those  given  to  either  of  her  sisters. 

And  there  were  other  bridesmaids  there ;  how  many  it  boots 
not  now  to  say.  We  must  have  the  spaces  round  our  altars 
greatly  widened  if  this  passion  for  bevies  of  attendant  nymphs 
be  allowed  to  go  on  increasing — and  if  crinoline  increase  also. 
If  every  bride  is  to  have  twelve  maidens,  and  each  maiden  to 
stand  on  no  less  than  a  twelve-yard  circle,  what  modest  temple 
will  ever  suffice  for  a  sacrifice  to  Hymen  ? 

And  Mrs.  Woodward  was  there,  of  course ;  as  pretty  to  my 
thinking  as  either  of  her  daughters,  or  any  of  the  bridesmaids. 
She  was  very  pretty  and  smiling  and  quiet.  But  when  Ger- 
trude said,  "  I  will,"  she  was  thinking  of  Harry  Norman,  and 
grieving  that  he  was  not  there. 

And  Captain  Cuttwater  was  there,  radiant  in  a  new  blue 
coat,  made  specially  for  the  occasion,  and  elastic  with  true  joy. 
He  had  been  very  generous.  He  had  given  1,000^.  to  Alaric, 
and  settled  1501.  a-year  on  Gertrude,  payable,  of  course,  after 
his  death.  This,  indeed,  was  the  bulk  of  what  he  had  to  give, 
and  Mrs.  Woodward  had  seen  with  regret  his  exuberant  muni- 
ficence to  one  of  her  children.  But  Gertrude  was  her  child, 
and  of  course  she  could  not  complain. 

And  Charley  wa^  there,  acting  as  best  man.  It  was  just  the 
place  and  just-  tiie  work  for  Charley.  He  forgot  all  his  diffi- 
culties, all  his  duns,  and  also  all  his  town  delights.  Without  a 
sigh  he  left  his  lady  in  Norfolk  street  to  mix  gin-sling  for  other 
admirers,  and  felt  no  regret  though  four  brother  navvies  were 
going  to  make  a  stunning  night  of  it  at  the  "  Salon  de  Seville 
dansant,"  at  the  bottom  of  Holborn  Hill.  However,  he  had  his 
hopes  that  he  might  be  back  in  time  for  some  of  that  fun. 

And  TJndy  Scott  was  there.  He  and  Alaric  had  fraternised 
so  greatly  of  late  that  the  latter  had,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
asked  him  to  his  wedding,  and  Mrs.  Woodward  had  of  course 
expressed  her  delight  at  receiving  Alaric's  friend.  Undy  also 
was  a  pleasant  fellow  for  a  wedding  party;  he  was  full  of  talk, 
fond  of  ladies,  being  no  whit  abashed  in  his  attendance  on  them 
by  the  remembrance  of  his  bosom's  mistress,  whom  he  had  left. 


164  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

let  us  liope,  Happy  in  lier  far  domestic  retirement.  Undy  Scott 
was  a  good  man  at  a  wedding,  and  made  himself  specially 
agreeable  on  this  occasion. 

But  the  great  glory  of  the  day  was  the  presence  of  Sir  Gre- 
gory Hardlines.  It  was  a  high  honor,  considering  all  that 
rested  on  Sir  Gregory's  shoulders,  for  so  great  a  man  to  come 
all  the  way  down  to  Hampton  to  see  a  clerk  in  the  Weights 
and  Measures  married. 

"Cum  tot  sustineas,  et  tanta  negotia  solus," 

— for  we  may  call  it  "  solus,"  Sir  Warwick  and  Mr.  Jobbles 
being  sources  of  more  plague  than  profit  in  carrying  out  your 
noble  schemes ; — while  so  many  things  are  on  your  shoulders, 
Sir  Gregory;  while  you  are  defending  the  Civil  Service  by  your 
pen  [?],  adorning  it  by  your  conduct,  perfecting  it  by  new 
rules,  how  could  any  man  have  had  the  face  to  ask  you  to  a 
wedding  ? 

Nevertheless  Sir  Gregory  was  there,  and  did  not  lose  the 
excellent  opportunity  which  a  speech  at  the  breakfast-table 
aftorded  him  for  expressing  his  opinion  on  the  Civil  Service  of 
his  country. 

And  so  Gertrude  Woodward  became  Gertrude  Tudor,  and 
she  and  Alaric  were  v>^hirled  away  by  a  post-chaise  and  post- 
boy, done  out  with  white  bows,  to  the  Hampton  Court  station ; 
from  thence  they  whisked  up  to  London,  and  then  to  Dover ;, 
and  there  we  will  leave  them. 

They  were  whisked  away,  having  first  duly  gone  through  the 
amount  of  badgering  which  the  bride  and  bridegroom  have  to 
suff'er  at  the  wedding  breakfast-table.  They  drank  their  own 
health  in  champagne.  Alaric  made  a  speech,  in  which  he  said 
he  was  quite  unworthy  of  his  present  happiness,  and  Gertrude 
picked  up  all  the  bijous,  gold  pencil-cases,  and  silver  cream -jugs, 
which  were  thrown  at  her  from  all  sides.  All  the  men  made 
speeches,  and  all  the  women  laughed,  but  the  speech  of  the  day 
was  that  celebrated  one  made  by  Sir  Gregory,  in  which  he  gave 
a  sketch  of  Alaric  Tudor  as  the  beau  ideal  of  a  clerk  in  the 
Civil  Service.  "  His  heart,"  said  he,  energetically,  "  is  at  the 
Weights  and  Measures ;"  but  Gertrude  looked  at  him  as  though 
she  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it. 

And  so  Alaric  and  Gertrude  were  whisked  away,  and  the 
wedding  guests  were  left  to  look  sheepish  at  each  other,  and 
take  themselves  oflF  as  best  they  might.  Sir  Gregory,  of  course, 
had  important  public  business  which  precluded  him  from  having 


THE   FIRST   WEDDING.  165 

the  gratification  of  prolonging  Lis  stay  at  Hampton.  Charley 
got  away  in  perfect  'time  to  enjoy  whatever  there  might  be  to 
be  enjoyed  at  the  dancing  saloon  of  Seville,  and  Undy  Scott 
returned  to  his  chib. 

Then  all  was  again  quiet  at  Surbiton  Cottage.  Captain  Cutt- 
water,  who  had  perhaps  drunk  the  bride's  health  once  too  often, 
went  to  sleep ;  Katie,  having  taken  off  her  fine  clothes,  roamed 
about  the  house  disconsolate,  and  Mrs.  Woodward  and  Linda 
betook  themselves  to  their  needles. 

The  Tudors  went  to  Brussels,  and  were  made  welcome  by  the 
Belgian  banker,  whose  counters  he  had  deserted  so  much  to  his 
own  benefit,  and  from  thence  to  Paris,  and,  having  been  there 
long  enough  to  buy  a  French  bonnet  and  wonder  at  the  enor- 
mity of  French  prices,  they  returned  to  a  small  but  comfortable 
house  they  had  prepared  for  themselves  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Westbourne  Terrace. 

Previous  to  this  Norman  had  been  once,  and  but  once,  at 
Hampton,  and,  when  there,  he  had  failed  in  being  comfortable 
himself,  or  in  making  the  Woodwards  so ;  he  could  not  revert 
to  his  old  habits,  or  sit,  or  move,  or  walk,  as  though  nothing 
special  had  happened  since  he  had  been  last  there.  He  could 
not  talk  about  Gertrude,  and  he  could  not  help  talking  of  her. 
By  some  closer  packing  among  the  ladies  a  room  had  now  been 
prepared  for  him  in  the  house ;  even  this  upset  him,  and 
brought  to  his  mind  all  those  unpleasant  thoughts  which  he 
should  have  endeavored  to  avoid. 

He  did  not  repeat  his  visit  before  the  Tudors  returned ;  and 
then  for  some  time  he  was  prevented  from  doing  so  by  the 
movements  of  the  Woodwards  themselves.  Mrs.  Woodward 
paid  a  visit  to  her  married  daughter,  and,  when  she  returned, 
Linda  did  the  same.  And  so  for  a  while  Norman  was,  as  it 
were,  divided  from  his  old  friends,  whereas  Tudor,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  was  one  of  themselves.  ' '"" 

It  was  only  natural  that  Mrs.  Woodward  should  forgive  Alaric 
and  receive  him  to  her  bosom,  now  that  he  was  her  son-in-law. 
After  all,  such  ties  as  these  avail  more  than  any  predilections, 
more  than  any  eff'ort  of  judgment  in  the  choice  of  the  objects 
of  our  afi'ections.  We  associate  with  those  with  whom  the 
tenor  of  life  has  thrown  us,  and  from  habit  we  learn  to  love 
those  with  whom  we  are  brought  to  associate. 


1G6  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    HONORABLE    MRS.    VAL    AND    MISS    GOLIGHTLY. 

The  first  eighteen  months  of  Gertrude's  married  life  were  not 
unhappy,  though,  like  all  persons  entering  on  the  realities  of 
the  world,  she  found  much  to  disappoint  her.  At  first  her  hus- 
band's society  was  sufficient  for  her ;  and  to  give  him  his  due, 
he  was  not  at  first  an  inattentive  husband.  Then  came  the 
baby,  bringing  with  him,  as  first  babies  always  should  do,  a  sort 
of  second  honeymoon  of  love,  and  a  renewal  of  those  services 
which  women  so  delight  to  receive  from  their  bosoms'  lord. 

She  had  of  course  made  acquaintances  since  she  had  settled 
herself  in  London,  and  had,  in  her  modest  way,  done  her  little 
part  in  adding  to  the  gaiety  of  the  great  metropolis.  In  this 
respect  indeed  Alaric's  commencement  of  life  had  somewhat 
frightened  Mrs.  Woodward,  and  the  more  prudent  of  his  friends. 
Grand  as  his  official  promotion  had  been,  his  official  income  at 
the  time  of  his  marriage  did  not  exceed  QOOl  a-year,  and  though 
this  was  to  be  augmented  occasionally  till  it  reached  800/,  yet 
even  with  this  advantage  it  could  hardly  suffice  for  a  man  and 
his  wife  and  a  coming  family  to  liy£  m  an  expensive  part  of 
London,  and  enable  him  to  "  see  his  fi'iends"  occasionally,  as 
the  act  of  feeding  one's  acquaintance  is  now  generally  called. 

Gertrude,  like  most  English  girls  of  her  age,  was  at  first  so 
ignorant  about  money  that  she  hardly  knew  whether  600/.  was 
or  was  not  a  sufficient  income  to  justify  their  present  mode  of 
living ;  but  she  soon  found  reason  to  suspect  that  her  husband 
at  any  rate  endeavored  to  increase  it  by  other  means.  We  say 
to  suspect,  because  he  never  spoke  to  her  on  the  subject ;  he 
never  told  her  of  Mary  Janes  and  New  Friendships  ;  or  hinted 
that  he  had  extensive  money  dealings  in  connection  with  Undy 
Scott. 

But  it  can  be  taken  for  granted  that  no  husband  can  carry 
on  such  dealings  long  without  some  sort  of  cognisance  on  his 
wife's  part  as  to  what  he  is  doing ;  a  woman  who  is  not  trusted 
by  her  lord  may  choose  to  remain  in  apparent  darkness,  may 
abstain  from  questions,  and  may  consider  it  either  her  duty  or 
her  interest  to  assume  an  ignorance  as  to  her  husband's  aff"airs ; 
but  the  partner  of  one's  bed  and  board,  the  minister  who 
soothes  one's  headaches,  and  makes  one's  tea,  and  looks  after 


THE   HON.    MKS.    VAL   AND   MISS    GOLIGUTLY.  1C7 

one's  linen,  can't  but  have  tlie  means  of  guessing  tlie  thoughts 
which  occupy  her  companion's  mind  and  occasionally  darken 
his  brow. 

Much  of  Gertrude's  society  had  consisted  of  that  into  which 
Alaric  was  thrown  by  his  friendship  with  Undy  Scott.  There 
was  a  brother  of  Undy's  living  in  town,  one  Valentine  Scott — 
a  captain  in  a  cavalry  regiment,  and  whose  wife  was  by  no 
means  of  that  delightfully  retiring  disposition  evinced  by  Undy's 
better  half.  The  Hon.  Mrs.  Valentine,  or  Mrs.  Val  Scott  as 
she  was  commonly  called,  was  a  very  pushing  woman,  and 
pushed  herself  into  a  prominent  place  among  Gertrude's  friends. 
She  had  been  the  widow  of  Jonathan  Golightly,  Esq.,  umquhile 
sheriff  of  the  city  of  London,  and  stockbroker ;  and  when  she 
gave  herself  and  her  jointure  up  to  Captain  Val,  she  also 
brought  with  her,  to  enliven  the  house,  a  daughter  Clementina, 
the  only  remaining  pledge  of  her  love  for  the  stockbroker. 

When  Val  Scott  entered  the  world,  his  father's  precepts  as 
to  the  purposes  of  matrimony  were  deeply  graven  on  his  heart. 
He  was  the  best  looking  of  the  family,  and,  except  Undy,  the 
youngest.  He  had  not  Undy's  sharpness,  his  talent  for  public 
matters,  or  his  aptitude  for  the  higher  branches  of  the  Civil 
Service ;  but  he  had  wit  to  wear  his  sash  and  epaulets  with  an 
easy  grace,  and  to  captivate  the  heart,  person,  and  some  portion 
of  the  purse,  of  the  Widow  Golightly.  The  lady  was  ten  years 
older  than  the  gentleman  ;  but  then  she  had  a  thousand  a-year, 
and,  to  make  matters  more  pleasant,  the  beauteous  Clementina 
had  a  fortune  of  her  own. 

Under  these  circumstances  the  marriage  had  been  contracted 
without  any  deceit,  or  attempt  at  deceit,  by  either  party.  Val 
wanted  an  income,  and  the  sheriff's  widow  wanted  the  utmost 
amount  of  socid  consideration  which  her  not  very  extensive 
means  would  purchase  for  her.  On  the  whole,  the  two  parties 
to  the  transaction  were  contented  with  their  bargain.  Mrs. 
Val,  it  is  true,  kept  her  income  very  much  in  her  own  hands ; 
but  still  she  consented  to  pay  Val's  tailors'  bills,  and  it  is  some- 
thing for  a  man  to  have  bed  and  board  found  him  for  nothing. 
It  is  true,  again,  the  lady  did  not  find  that  the  noble  blood  of 
her  husband  gave  her  an  immediate  right  of  entry  into  the  best 
houses  in  London ;  but  it  did  bring  her  into  some  sort  of 
contact  with  some  few  people  of  rank  and  fame  ;  and  being  a 
sensible  woman,  she  had  not  been  unreasonable  in  her  expec- 
tations. 

When  she  had  got  what  she  could  from  her  husband  in  this 


1G8  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

particular,  she  did  not  trouble  him  much  further.  He  delighted 
in  the  Rag,  and  there  spent  the  most  of  his  time  ;  happily,  she 
delighted  in  what  she  called  the  charms  of  society,  and  as 
society  expanded  itself  before  her,  she  was  also,  we  must 
suppose,  happy.  She  soon  perceived  that  more  in  her  imme- 
diate Ime  was  to  be  obtained  from  TJndy  than  from  her  own 
member  of  the  Gaberlunzie  family,  and  hence  had  sprung  up 
her  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Tudor. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Gertrude  was  very  fond  of  the  Honor- 
able Mrs.  Yal,  nor  even  of  her  daughter,  Clementina  Golightly, 
who  was  more  of  her  own  age.  These  people  had  become  her 
friends  from  the  force  of  circumstances,  and  not  from  predilec- 
tion. To  tell  the  truth,  Mrs.  Val;-JV«lio  had  in  her  day  encoun- 
tered, wdth  much  patience,  a  good  deal  of  snubbing,  and  who 
had  had  to  be  thankful  when  she  was  patronised,  now  felt  that 
her  day  for  being  a  great  lady  had  come,  and  that  it  behoved 
her  to  patronise  others.  She  tried  her  hand  upon  Gertrude,  and 
found  the  practice  so  congenial  to  her  spirits,  so  pleasantly 
stimulating,  so  well  adapted  to  afford  a  gratifying  compensation 
for  her  former  humility,  that  she  continued  to  give  up  a  good 
deal  of  her  time  to  No.  5,  Albany  Row,  Westbourne  Terrace, 
at  which  house  the  Tudors  resided. 

The  young  bride  was  not  exactly  the  woman  to  submit  quietly 
to  patronage  from  any  Mrs.  Val,  however  honorable  she  might 
be  ;  but  for  a  while  Gertrude  hardly  knew  what  it  meant;  and 
at  her  first  outset  the  natural  modesty  of  youth,  and  her  inex- 
perience in  her  new  position,  made  her  unwilling  to  take  offence 
and  unequal  to  rebellion.  By  degrees,  however,  this  feeling  of 
humility  wore  off;  she  began  to  be  aware  of  the  assumed  supe- 
riority of  Mrs.  Val's  friendship,  and  by  the  time  that  their 
mutual  affection  was  of  a  year's  standing,  Gertrude  had  deter- 
mined, in  a  quiet  way,  without  saying  anything  to  anybody,  to 
put  herself  on  a  footing  of  more  perfect  equality  with  the 
Honorable  Mrs.  Yal. 

Clementina  Golightly  was,  in  the  common  parlance  of  a  large 
portion  of  mankind,  a  **  doosed  fine  gal."  She  stood  five  feet 
six,  and  stood  very  well,  on  very  good  legs,  but  with  rather 
large  feet.  She  was  as  straight  as  a  grenadier,  and  had  it  been 
her  fate  to  carry  a  milk-pail,  she  would  have  carried  it  to  per- 
fection. Instead  of  this,  however,  she  w^as  permitted  to  expend 
an  equal  amount  of  energy  in.  every  variation  of  waltz  and 
polka  that  the  ingenuity  of  the  dancing  professors  of  the  age 
has   been    able   to   produce.     Waltzes   and  polkas  suited   her 


THE   UOX.    MES.    VAL   AND   MISS    GOLIGHTLY.  1(39 

admirably ;  for  she  was  gifted  with  excellent  lungs  and  perfect 
powers  of  breathing,  and  she  had  not  much  delight  in  prolonged 
conversation.  Her  fault,  if  she  had  one,  was  a  predilection  for 
flirting ;  but  she  did  her  flirtations  in  a  silent  sort  of  way,  much 
as  we  may  suppose  the  fishes  do  theirs,  whose  amours  we  may 
presume  to  consist  in  swimming  through  their  cool  element  in 
close  contiguity  with  each  other.  "  A  feast  of  reason  and  a 
flow  of  soul"  were  not  the  charms  by  which  Clementina 
Golightly  essayed  to  keep  her  admirers  spell-bound  at  her  feet. 
To  whirl  rapidly  round  a  room  at  the  rate  of  ten  miles  an  hour, 
with  her  right  hand  outstretched  in  the  grasp  of  her  partner's, 
and  to  know  that  she  was  tightly  buoyed  up,  like  a  horse  by  a 
bearing-rein,  by  his  other  hand  behind  her  back,  was  for  her 
suflicient.  To  do  this,  as  she  did  do  it,  without  ever  crying  for 
mercy,  with  no  slackness  of  breath,  and  apparently  without  dis- 
tress, must  have  taken  as  much  training  as  a  horse  gets  for  a 
race.  But  the  training  had  in  nowise  injured  her ;  and  now, 
having  gone  through  her  gallops  and  run  all  her  heats  for  three 
successive  seasons,  she  was  still  sound  of  wind  and  limb,  and  fit 
to  run  at  any  moment  when  called  upon. 

We  have  said  nothing  at  all  about  the  face  of  the  beauteous 
Clementina,  and  indeed  nothing  can  be  said  about  it.  There 
was  no  feature  in  it  with  which  a  man  could  have  any  right  to 
find  fault ;  that  she  was  a  "  doosed  fine  girl"  was  a  fact  generally 
admitted  ;  but  nevertheless  you  might  look  at  her  for  four  hours 
consecutively  on  a  Monday  evening,  and  yet  on  Tuesday  you 
would  not  know  her.  She  had  hair  which  was  brownish  and 
sufficiently  silky — and  which  she  wore,  as  all  other  girls  do, 
propped  out  on  each  side  of  her  face  by  thick  round  velvet 
pads,  which,  when  the  waltzing  pace  became  exhilarating,  occa- 
sionally showed  themselves,  looking  greasy.  She  had  a  pair  of 
eyes  set  straight  in  her  head,  faultless  in  form,  and  perfectly 
inexpressive.  She  had  a  nose  equally  straight,  but  perhaps  a 
little  too  coarse  in  dimensions.  She  had  a  mouth  not  over 
large,  with  two  thin  lips  and  small  whitish  teeth  ;  and  she  had  a 
chin  equal  in  contour  to  the  rest  of  her  face,  but  on  which 
Venus  had  not  deigned  to  set  a  dimple.  Nature  might  have 
defied  a  French  passport  oflBcer  to  give  a  description  of  her,  by 
which  even  her  own  mother  or  a  detective  policeman  might 
have  recognised  her. 

When  to  the  above  list  of  attractions  it  is  added  that 
Clementina  Golightly  had  20,000^.  of  her  own,  and  a  rever- 
sionary interest  in  her  mother's  jointure,  it  may  be  imagined 

8 


170  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

that  she  did  not  want  for  good-winded  cavaliers  to  bear  lier  up 
behind,  and  whirl  around  with  her  with  outstretched  hands. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  stay  a  moment,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Yal, 
seating  herself  on  Gertrude's  sofa,  having  rushed  up  almost 
unannounced  into  the  drawing-room,  followed  by  Clementina ; 
"  indeed,  Lady  Howlaway  is  waiting  for  me  this  moment ;  but  I 
must  settle  with  you  about  the  June  flower-show." 

"  Oh !  thank  you,  Mrs.  Scott,  don't  trouble  yourself  about 
me,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  I  don't  think  I  shall  go." 

"  Oh  !  nonsense,  my  dear ;  of  course  you  '11  go  ;  it's  the  show 
of  the  year,  and  the  grand-duke  is  to  be  there — baby  is  all  right 
now,  you  know  ;  I  must  not  hear  of  your  not  going." 

"  All  the  same — I  fear  I  must  decline,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  I 
think  I  shall  be  at  Hampton." 

"  Oh  !  nonsense,  my  dear  ;  ol  course  you  must  show  yourself. 
People  will  say  all  manner  of  things  else.  Clementina  has 
promised  to  meet  Victoire  Jaquetanapes  there  and  a  party  of 
French  people,  people  of  the  very  highest  Jjos,  You'll  be 
delighted,  my  dear." 

"  M.  Jaquetanapes  is  the  most  delicious  polkist  you  ever 
met,"  said  Clementina.  "  He  has  got  a  new  back  step  that  will 
quite  amaze  you."  As  Gertrude  in  her  present  condition  was 
not  much  given  to  polkas,  this  temptation  did  not  have  great 
effect. 

"  Oh,  you  must  come,  of  course,  my  dear — and  pray  let  me 
recommend  you  to  go  to  Madame  Bosconi  for  your  bonnet ; 
she  has  such  darling  little  ducks,  and  as  cheap  as  dirt.  But  I 
want  you  to  arrange  about  the  carriage ;  you  can  do  that  with 
Mr.  Tudor,  and  I  can  settle  with  you  afterwards.  Captain  Scott 
won't  go,  of  course ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  IJndecimus  and  Mr. 
Tudor  will  come  later  and  bring  us  home  ;  we  can  manage  very 
well  with  the  one  carriage." 

In  spite  of  her  thousand  a-year  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Yal  was 
not  ashamed  to  look  after  the  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence. 
And  so,  having  made  her  arrangements,  Mrs.  Val  took  herself 
off,  hurrying  to  appease  the  anger  of  Lady  Howlaway,  and 
followed  by  Clementina,  who  since  her  little  outburst  as  to  the 
new  back  step  of  M.  Jaquetanapes  had  not  taken  much  part  in 
the  conversation. 

Flower-shows  are  a  great  resource  for  the  Mrs.  Scotts  of 
London  life.  They  are  open  to  ladies  who  cannot  quite  pene- 
trate the  inner  sancta  of  fashionable  life,  and  yet  they  are 
frequented  by  those  to  whom  those  sancta  are  everyday  house- 


THE   HON.    MES.    VAL   AND   MISS    GOLIGIITLY.  171 

hold  ^^alks.  There  at  least  the  Mrs.  Scotts  of  the  outer  world 
can  show  themselves  in  close  contiguity,  and  on  equal  terms, 
with  the  Mrs.  Scotts  of  the  inner  world.  And  then,  who  is  to 
know  the  difference  ?  If  also  one  is  an  Honourable  Mrs.  Scott, 
and  can  contrive  to  appear  as  such  in  the  next  day's  "  Morning 
Post,"  may  not  one  fairly  boast  that  the  ends  of  society  have 
been  attained  ?  Where  is  the  citadel  ?  How  is  one  to  know 
when  one  has  taken  it  ? 

Gertrude  could  not  be  quite  so  defiant  with  her  friends  as 
she  would  have  wished  to  have  been,  as  they  were  borne  with 
and  encoui*ged  by  her  husband.  Of  Undy's  wife  Alaric  saw 
nothing  and  heard  Httle,  but  it  suited  Undy  to  make  use  of  his 
sister-in-law's  house,  and  it  suited  Alaric  to  be  intimate  with 
TJndy's  sister-in-law.  Moreover,  had  not  Clementina  Golightly 
20,000Z.,  and  was  she  not  a  "doosed  fine  girl?"  This  was 
nothing  to  Alaric  now,  and  might  not  be  considered  to  be  much 
to  Undy.  But  that  far-seeing,  acute  financier  knew  that  there 
were  other  means  of  handling  a  lady's  money  than  that  of 
marrying  her.  He  could  not  at  present  acquire  a  second 
fortune  in  that  way ;  but  he  might  perhaps  acquire  the  man- 
agement of  this  20,000/.  if  he  could  provide  the  lady  with  a 
husband  of  the  proper  temperament.  Undy  Scott  did  not  w^ant 
to  appropriate  Miss  Golightly's  fortune,  he  only  wanted  to  have 
the  management  of  it. 

Looking  around  among  his  acquaintance  for  a  fitting  parti 
for  the  sweet  Clementina,  his  mind,  after  much  consideration, 
settled  upon  Charley  Tudor.  There  were  many  young  men 
much  nearer  and  dearer  to  Undy  than  Charley,  who  might  be 
equally  desirous  of  so  great  a  prize  ;  but  he  could  think  of  none 
over  whom  he  might  probably  exercise  so  direct  a  control. 
Charley  was  a  handsome  gay  fellow,  and  waltzed  au  ravir  ;  he 
might,  therefore,  without  difficulty,  make  his  way  with  the  fair 
Clementina.  He  was  distressingly  poor,  and  would  therefore 
certainly  jump  at  an  heiress — ^he  was  delightfully  thoughtless 
and  easy  of  leading,  and  therefore  the  money,  when  in  his 
hands,  might  probably  be  manageable.  He  was  also  Alaric's 
cousin,  and  therefore  acceptable. 

Undy  did  not  exactly  open  his  mind  to  Alaric  Tudor  in  this 
matter.  Alaric's  education  was  going  on  rapidly ;  but  his  mind 
had  not  yet  received  with  sufficient  tenacity  those  principles  of 
philosophy  which  would  enable  him  to  look  at  this  scheme  in 
its  proper  light.  He  had  already  learnt  the  great  utility,  one 
may  almost  say  the  necessity,  of  having  a  command  of  money ; 


172  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

lie  was  beginning  also  to  perceive  that  money  was  a  thing  not 
to  be  judged  of  by  the  ordinary  rules  which  govern  a  man's  con- 
duct. In  other  matters  it  behoves  a  gentleman  to  be  open, 
above-board,  liberal,  and  true  ;  good-natured,  generous,  confid- 
ing, self-denying,  doing  unto  others  as  he  would  wish  that  others 
should  do  unto  him  ;  but  in  the  acquirement  and  use  of  money 
— that  is,  its  use  with  the  object  of  acquiring  more,  its  use  in  the 
usurer's  sense — his  practice  should  be  exactly  the  reverse ;  he 
should  be  close,  secret,  exacting,  given  to  concealment,  not  over 
troubled  by  scruples;  suspicious,  without  sympathies,  self-devot- 
ed, and  always  doing  unto  others  exactly  that  which  he  is  on 
his  guard  to  prevent  others  from  doing  unto  him — viz.,  making- 
money  by  them.  So  much  Alaric  had  learnt,  and  had  been  no 
inapt  scholar.  But  he  had  not  yet  appreciated  the  full  value  of 
the  latitude  allowed  by  the  genius  of  the  present  age  to  men  who 
deal  successfully  in  money.  He  had,  as  we  have  seen,  ac- 
knowledged to  himself  that  a  sportsman  may  return  from  the 
field  with  his  legs  and  feet  a  little  muddy ;  but  he  did  not  yet 
know  how  deep  a  man  may  wallow  in  the  mire,  how  thoroughly 
he  may  besmear  himself  from  head  to  foot  in  the  blackest,  foulest 
mud,  and  yet  be  received  an  honored  guest  by  ladies  gay  and 
noble  lords,  if  only  his  bag  be  sufficiently  full. 

"Rem       *       *       *^  quocunque  modo  rem !" 

The  remainder  of  the  passage  was  doubtless  applicable  to  former 
times,  but  now  is  hardly  worth  repeating. 

As  Alaric's  stomach  was  not  yet  quite  suited  for  strong  food, 
Undy  fitted  this  matter  to  his  friend's  still  juvenile  capacities. 
There  was  an  heiress,  a  "  doosed  fine  girl,"  as  Undy  insisted, 
laying  peculiar  strength  on  the  word  of  emphasis,  with  20,000^., 
and  there  was  Charley  Tudor,  a  devilish  decent  fellow,  without 
a  rap.  Why  not  bring  them  together?  This  would  only  be  a 
mark  of  true  friendship  on  the  part  of  Undy;  and  on  Alaric's 
part,  it  would  be  no  more  than  one  cousin  would  be  bound  to  do 
for  another.  Looking  at  it  in  this  light,  Alaric  saw  nothing  in 
the  matter  which  could  interfere  with  his  quiet  conscience. 

"  I'll  do  what  I  can,"  said  Undy.  "  Mrs.  Val  is  inclined  to 
have  a  way  of  her  own  in  most  things  ;  but  if  anybody  can  lead 
her,  I  can.  Charley  must  take  care  that  Val  himself  doesn't 
take  his  part — that's  all.  If  he  interferes,  it  would  be  all  up 
with  us." 

And  thus  Alaric,  intent  mainly  on  the  interest  of  his  cousin, 
and  actuated  perhaps  a  little  by  the  feeling  that  a  rich   cousin 


THE   HON.    MES.    VAL   AND    MISS    GOLIGHTLY.  lT3 

would  be  more  serviceable  than  a  poor  one,  set  bimself  to  work, 
in  connection  with  TJndy  Scott,  to  make  prey  of  Clementina 
Golightly's  20,000/. 

But  if  Undy  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  the  co-operation  of 
Alaric  in  this  matter,  Alaric  by  no  means  found  it  equally  easy 
to  secure  the  co-operation  of  Charley.  Charley  Tudor  had  not 
yet  learnt  to  look  upon  himself  as  a  marketable  animal,  worth  a 
certain  sum  of  money,  in  consequence  of  such  property  in  good 
appearance,  address,  &c.,  as  God  had  been  good  enough  to  endow 
him  withal. 

He  daily  felt  the  depth  and  disagreeable  results  of  his  own 
poverty,  and  not  unfrequently,  when  specially  short  of  the 
Queen's  medium,  sighed  for  some  of  those  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands  with  which  men's  mouths  are  so  glibly  full.  He  had 
often  tried  to  calculate  what  would  be  his  feelings  if  some  eccen- 
tric, good-natured  old  stranger  should  leave  him,  say,  five 
thousand  a-year  ;  he  had  often  walked  about  the  street,  with  his 
hands  in  his  empty  pockets,  building  delicious  castles  in  the  air, 
and  doing  the  most  munificent  actions  imaginable  with  his  newly- 
acquired  wealth,  as  all  men  in  such  circumstances  do ;  relieving 
distress,  rewarding  virtue,  and  making  handsome  presents  to  all 
his  friends,  and  especially  to  Mrs.  Woodward.  So  far,  Charley 
was  not  guiltless  of  coveting  wealth ;  but  he  had  never  for  a 
moment  thought  of  realising  his  dreams  by  means  of  his  personal 
attractions.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  any  girl  having 
money  could  think  it  worth  her  while  to  marry  him.  He,  navvy 
as  he  was,  with  his  infernal  friends  and  pot-house  love,  with  his 
debts  and  idleness  and  low  associations,  with  his  saloons  of 
Seville,  his  Elysium  in  Fleet  street,  and  his  Paradise  near  the 
Surrey  Gardens,  had  hitherto  thought  little  enough  of  his  own 
attractions.  No  kind  father  had  taught  him  that  he  was  worth 
10,000/.  in  any  market  in  the  world.  When  he  had  dreamt  of 
money,  he  had  never  dreamt  of  it  as  accruing  to  him  in  return 
for  any  value  or  worth  which  he  had  inherent  in  himself.  Even 
in  his  lighter  moments  he  had  no  such  conceit ;  and  at  those 
periods,  few  and  far  between,  in  which  he  did  think  seriously  of 
the  world  at  large,  this  special  method  of  escaping  from  his  diffi- 
culties never  once  presented  itself  to  his  mind. 

When,  therefore,  Alaric  first  spoke  to  him  of  marrying 
20,000/.  and  Clementina  Golightly,  his  surprise  was  un- 
bounded. 

"  20,000/. !"  said  Alaric,  "  and  a  doosed  fine  girl  you 
know  ;"  and  he  also  laid  great  stress  on  the  latter  part  of  the 


174  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

offer,  knowing  how  inflammable  was  Charley's  heart,  and  at  the 
same  time  how  little  mercenary  was  his  mind. 

But  Charley  was  not  only  surprised  at  the  proposed  arrange- 
ment, but  apparently  also  unwilling  to  enter  into  it.  He 
argued  that  in  the  first  place  no  girl  in  her  senses  would  accept 
him.  To  this  Alaric  replied  that  as  Clementina  had  not  much 
sense  to  speak  of,  that  objection  might  fall  to  the  ground. 
Then  Charley  expressed  an  idea  that  Miss  Golightly's  friends 
might  probably  object  when  they  learnt  what  were  the  exact 
pecuniary  resources  of  the  expectant  husband  ;  to  which  Alaric 
argued  that  the  circumstances  of  the  case  were  very  lucky, 
inasmuch  that  some  of  Clementina's  natural  fi-iends  were  already 
prepossessed  in  favor  of  such  an  arrangement. 

Driven  thus  from  two  of  his  strongholds,  Charley  in  the  most 
modest  of  voices,  in  a  voice  one  might  say  quite  shamefaced 
and  conscious  of  its  master's  weakness — suggested  that  he  was 
not  quite  sure  that  at  the  present  moment  he  was  very  much  in 
love  with  the  lady  in  question. 

Alaric  had  married  for  love,  and  was  not  two  years  married, 
yet  had  his  education  so  far  progressed  in  that  short  period  as 
to  enable  him  to  laugh  at  such  an  objection. 

"Then,  my  dear  fellow,  what  the  deuce  do  you  mean  to  do 
with  yourself  ?     You'll  certainly  go  to  the  dogs." 

Charley  had  an  idea  that  he  certainly  should  ;  and  also  had 
an  idea  that  Miss  Clementina  and  her  20,000/.  might  not 
improbably  go  in  the  same  direction,  if  he  had  anything  to  do 
with  them. 

"  And  as  for  loving  her,"  continued  Alaric,  "  that's  all  my 
eye^-''*"Love  is  a  luxury  which  none  but  the  rich  or  the  poor  can 
aiSord.  We  middle-class  paupers,  who  are  born  with  good 
qoats  on  our  backs,  but  empty  purses,  can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it." 

"But  you  married  for  love,  Alaric?" 

"  My  marriage  was  not  a  very  prudent  one,  and  should  not  be 
taken  as  an  example.  And  then  I  did  get  some  fortune  with 
my  wife ;  and  what  is  more,  I  was  not  so  fearfully  in  want  of  it 
as  you  are." 

Charley  acknowledged  the  truth  of  this,  said  that  he  would 
think  of  the  matrimonial  project,  and  promised,  at  any  rate,  to 
call  on  Clementina  on  an  early  occasion.  He  had  already 
made  her  acquaintance,  had  already  danced  with  her,  and  cer- 
tainly could  not  take  upon  himself  to  deny  that  she  was  a 
"  doosed  fine  girl." 


THE   HON.    MRS.    VAL   AND   MISS   GOLIGHTLY.  175 

But  Charley  liad  reasons  of  his  own,  reasons  which  he  could 
not  make  known  to  Alaric,  for  not  thinking  much  of,  or  trusting 
much  to,  Miss  Golightly's  fortune.  In  the  first  place,  he 
regarded  marriage  on  such  a  grand  scale  as  that  now  suggested, 
as  a  ceremony  which  must  take  a  long  time  to  adjust ;  the 
wooing  of  a  lady  with  so  many  charms  could  not  be  carried  on 
as  might  be  the  wooing  of  a  chambermaid  or  a  farmer's 
daughter.  It  must  take  months  at  least  to  conciliate  the 
friends  of  so  rich  an  heiress,  and  months  at  the  end  of  them  to 
prepare  the  wedding  gala.  But  Charley  could  not  wait  for 
months ;  before  one  month  was  over  he  would  probably  be 
laid  up  in  some  vile  limbo,  an  unfortunate  poor  prisoner  at  the 
suit  of  an  iron-hearted  tailor. 

At  this  very  moment  of  Alaric's  proposition,  at  this  instant 
when  he  found  himself  talking  with  so  much  coolness  of  the 
expedience  or  inexpedience  of  appropriating  to  his  own  purpose 
a  slight  trifle  of  20,000/.,  he  was  in  dire  strait  as  to  money 
difficulties. 

He  had  lately,  that  is,  within  the  last  twelve  months,  made 
acquaintance  with  an  interesting  gentleman  named  Jabesh 
M'Kuen.  Mr.  Jabesh  M'Ruen  was  in  the  habit  of  relieving  the 
distresses  of  such  impoverished  young  gentlemen  as  Charley 
Tudor ;  and  though  he  did  this  with  every  assurance  of  philan- 
thropic regard,  though  in  doing  so  he  only  made  one  stipula- 
tion, "  Pray  be  punctual,  Mr.  3?adoi',  iiow.pray  do  be  punctual, 
sir,  and  you  may  always  count  on  me,"  nevertheless,  in  spite  of 
all  his  goodness,  Mr.  M'E-uen's  young  friends  seldom  con- 
tinued to  hold  their  heads  well  up  over  the  world's  waters. 

On  the  morning  after  this  conversation  with  Alaric,  Charley 
intended  to  call  on  his  esteemed  old  friend.  Many  were  the 
morning  calls  he  did  make ;  many  were  the  weary,  useless, 
aimless  walks  which  he  took  to  that  little  street  at  the  back  of 
Mecklenburg  Square,  with  the  fond  hope  of  getting  some  relief 
from  Mr.  M'Ruen  ;  and  many  also  were  the  calls,  the  return 
visits,  as  it  were,  which  Mr.  M'Ruen  made  at  the  Internal 
Navigation,  and  numerous  were  the  whispers  which  he  would 
there  whisper  into  the  ears  of  the  young  clerk,  Mr.  Snape  the 
while  sitting  by,  with  a  sweet  unconscious  look,  as  though  he 
firmly  believed  Mr.  M'Ruen  to  be  Charley's  maternal  uncle. 

And  then,  too,  Charley  had  other  difficulties,  which  in  his 
mind  presented  great  obstacles  to  the  Golightly  scheme,  though 
Alaric  would  have  thought  little  of  them,  and  Undy  nothing. 
What  was  he  to  do  with  his  Norfolk  Street  lady,  his  barmaid 


176  THE  THEEE   CLEEKS. 

liouri,  his  Norah  Geraglity,  to  whom  he  had  sworn  all  manner 
of  undying  love,  and  for  whom  in  some  sort  of  fashion  he  really 
had  an  affection  ?  And  Norah  was  not  a  light-of-loye  whom  it 
was  as  easy  to  lay  down  as.txirpiak^np.  Charley  had  sworn  to 
love  her,  and  she  had  sworn  to  love  Charley ;  and  to  give  her 
her  due,  she  had  kept  her  word  to  him.  Though  her  life 
rendered  necessary  a  sort  of  daily  or  rather  nightly  flirtation 
with  various  male  comers — as  indeed,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
did  also  the  life  of  Miss  Clementina  Golightly — yet  she  had  in 
her  way  been  true  to  her  lover.  She  had  been  true  to  him, 
and  Charley  did  not  doubt  her,  and  in  a  sort  of  low  way 
respected  her ;  though  it  was  but  a  dissipated  and  debauched 
respect.  There  had  even  been  talk  between  them  of  marriage, 
and  who  can  say  what  in  his  softer  moments,  when  his  brain 
had  been  too  weak  or  the  toddy  too  strong,  Charley  may  not 
have  promised  ? 

And  there  was  yet  another  objection  to  Miss  Golightly  ;  one 
even  more  difficult  of  mention,  one  on  which  Charley  felt  him- 
self more  absolutely  constrained  to  silence  than  even  either  of 
the  other  two.  He  was  sufficiently  disinclined  to  speak  to  his 
cousin  Alaric  as  to  the  merits  either  of  Mr.  Jabesh  M'Ruen  or 
of  Miss  Geraghty,  but  he  could  have  been  eloquent  on  either 
rather  than  whisper  a  word  as  to  the  third  person  who  stood 
between  him  and  the  20,000Z. 

The  school  in  which  Charley  now  lived,  that  of  the  infernal 
navvies,  had  taught  him  to  laugh  at  romance ;  but  it  had  not 
been  so  successful  in  quelling  the  early  feelings  of  his  youth,  in 
drying  up  the  fountains  of  poetry  within  him,  as  had  been  the 
case  with  his  cousin,  in  that  other  school  in  which  he  had  been 
a  scholar.  Charley  was  a  dissipated,  dissolute  rake,  and  in 
some  sense  had  degraded  himself;  but  he  had  still  this  chance 
of  safety  on  his  side,  that  he  himself  reprobated  his  own  sins. 
He  dreamt  of  other  things  and  a  bett  r  life.  He  made  visions 
to  himself  of  a  sweet  home,  and  a  sweeter,  sweetest,  lovely  wife  ; 
a  love  whose  hair  should  not  be  redolent  of  smoke,  nor  her 
hands  reeking  with  gin,  nor  her  services  at  the  demand  of  every 
libertine  who  wanted  a  screw  of  tobacco,  or  a  glass  of  "  cold 
without." 

He  had  made  such  a  vision  to  himfeelf,  and  the  angel  wi^h 
which  he  had  filled  it  was  not  a  creature  of  his  imagination. 
She  who  was  to  reign  in  this  ethereal  paradise,  this  happy 
home,  far  as  the  poles  away  from  Norfolk  Street,  was  a  living 
being  in  the  sublunar  globe,  present  sometimes  to  Charley's 


MORNING.  177 

eyes,  and  now  so  often  present  to  his  thoughts ;  and  yet  she 
was  but  a  child,  and  as  ignorant  that  she  had  ever  touched  a 
lover's  heart  by  her  childish  charms  as  though  she  had  been  a 
baby. 

After  all,  even  on  Charley's  part,  it  was  but  a  vision.  He 
never  really  thought  that  his  young  inamorata  would  or  could 
be  to  him  a  real  true  heart's  companion,  returning  his  love  with 
the  double  love  of  a  woman,  watching  his  health,  curing  his 
vices,  and  making  the  sweet  things  of  the  world  a  living  reality 
around  him.  This  love  of  his  was  but  a  vision,  but  not  the  less 
on  that  account  did  it  interfere  with  his  cousin  Alaric's  propo- 
sition in  reference  to  Miss  Clementina  Golightly. 

That  other  love  also,  that  squalid  love  of  his,  was  in  truth  no 
vision — was  a  stern,  palpable  reality,  very  difficult  to  get  rid  of, 
and  one  whi(?h  he  often  thought  to  himself  would  very  probably 
swallow  up  that  other  love,  and  drive  his  sweet  dream  far  away 
into  utter  darkness  and  dim  chaotic  space. 

But  at  any  rate  it  was  clear  that  there  was  no  room  in  his 
heart  for  the  beauteous  Clementina,  "  doosed  fine  girl "  as  she 
undoubtedly  was,  and  serviceable  as  the  20,000/.  most  certainly 
would  have  been. 


CHAPTER  XYin. 

A   DAY    WITH    ONE    OF    THE    NAVVIES. MORNING. 

On  the  morning  after  this  conversation  with  Alaric,  Charley 
left  his  lodgings  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  wended  his  way 
towards  Mecklenburg  Square.  At  the  corner  of  Davies  Street 
he  got  an  omnibus,  which  for  fourpence  took  him  to  one  of  the 
little  alleys  near  Gray's  Inn,  and  there  he  got  down,  and  thread- 
ing the  well-known  locality,  through  Bedford  Place  and  across 
Theobald's  Road,  soon  found  himself  at  the  door  of  his  generous 
patron.  Oh  !  how  he  hated  the  house  ;  how  he  hated  the  blear- 
eyed,  cross-grained,  dirty,  impudent  fish-fag  of  an  old  woman 
who  opened  the  door  for  him ;  how  he  hated  Mr.  Jabesh  M'Ruen, 
to  whom  he  now  came  a  supplicant  for  assistance,  and  how, 
above  all,  he  hated  himself  for  being  there. 

He  was  shown  into  Mr.  M'Ruen's  little  front  parlor,  where 
he  had  to  wait  for  fifteen  minutes,  while  his  patron  made  such 
a  breakfast  as  generally  falls  to  the  lot  of  such  men.  We  can 
imagine  the  rancid  butter,  the  stale  befingered  bread,  the 
ha'porth  of  sky-blue  milk,  the  tea  innocent  of  China's  wrongs, 

8* 


178  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

and  the  soiled  cloth.  Mr.  M'Ruen  always  did  keep  Charley 
waiting  fifteen  minutes,  and  so  he  was  no  whit  surprised ;  the 
doing  so  was  a  part  of  the  tremendous  interest  which  the 
wretched  old  usurer  received  for  his  driblets  of  money. 

There  was  not  a  bit  of  furniture  in  the  room  on  which  Char- 
ley had  not  speculated  till  speculation  could  go  no  further :  the 
old  escritoir  or  secretaire  which  Mr.  M'Ruen  always  opened  the 
moment  he  came  into  the  room ;  the  rickety  Pembroke  table, 
covered  with  dirty  papers,  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  it ;  the 
horsehair-bottom  chairs,  on  which  Charley  declined  to  sit  down, 
unless  he  had  on  his  thickest  winter  trousers,  so  perpendicular 
had  become  some  atoms  on  the  surface,  which,  when  new,  had 
no  doubt  been  horizontal ;  the  ornaments  (!)  on  the  chimney, 
broken  bits  of  filthy  crockery,  full  of  whisps  of  paper,  with  a 
china  duck  without  a  tail,  and  a  dog  to  correspond  without  a 
head ;  the  pictures  against  the  wall,  with  their  tarnished  dingy 
frames  and  cracked  glasses,  representing  three  of  the  Seasons : 
how  the  fourth  had  gone  before  its  time  to  its  final  bourne  by 
an  unhappy  chance,  Mr.  M'Ruen  had  once  explained  to  Charley, 
while  endeavoring  to  make  his  young  customer  take  the  other 
three  as  a  good  value  for  ^il.  10s.  in  arranging  a  httle  transaction, 
the  total  amount  of  which  did  not  exceed  15/. 

In  that  instance,  however,  Charley,  w^ho  had  already  dabbled 
somewhat  deeply  in  dressing-cases,  utterly  refused  to  trade  in 
the  articles  produced. 

Charley  stood  with  his  back  to  the  dog  and  duck,  facing- 
Winter,  with  Spring  on  his  right  and  Autumn  on  his  left ;  it 
was  well  that  Summer  was  gone,  no  summer  could  have  shed 
light  on  that  miserable  chamber.  He  knew  that  he  would  have 
to  wait,  and  was  not  therefore  impatient,  and  at  the  end  of 
fifteen  minutes  Mr.  M'Ruen  shuffled  into  the  room  in  his  slip- 
pers. 

He  was  a  little  man,  with  thin  grey  hair,  which  stood  upright 
from  his  narrow  head — what  his  age  might  have  been  it  w^as 
impossible  to  guess ;  he  was  wizened,  and  dry,  and  grey,  but 
still  active  enough  on  his  legs  when  he  had  exchanged  his 
slippers  for  his  shoes ;  and  as  keen  in  all  his  senses  as  though 
years  could  never  tell  upon  him. 

He  always  wore  round  his  neck  a  stifi"-starched  deep  white 
handkerchief,  not  fastened  with  a  bow  in  fi-ont,  the  ends  being 
tucked  in  so  as  to  be  invisible.  This  cravat  not  only  covered 
his  throat  but  his  chin  also,  so  that  his  head  seemed  to  grow 
forth  from  it  without  the  aid  of  any  neck  ;  and  he  had  a  trick 


MORNING.  179 

of  turning  liis  face  round  within  it,  an  incli  or  two  to  the  riivht 
or  to  the  left,  in  a  manner  which  seemed  to  indicate  that  "his 
cranium  was  loose  and  might  be  removed  at  pleasure. 

He  shuffled  into  the  room  where  Charley  was  standing  with 
little  short  quick  steps,  and  putting  out  his  hand,  just  touched 
that  of  his  customer,  by  way  of  going  through  the  usual  process 
of  greeting. 

Some  short  statement  must  be  made  of  Charley's  money 
dealings  with  Mr.  M'Ruen  up  to  this  period.  About  two  years 
back,  a  tailor  had  an  over-due  bill  of  his  for  201.,  of  which  he 
was  unable  to  obtain  payment,  and  being  unwilling  to  go  to  law, 
or  perhaps  being  himself  in  Mr.  M'Ruen's  power,  he  passed  this 
bill  to  that  worthy  gentleman — what  amount  of  consideration  he 
got  for  it,  it  matters  not  now  to  inquire  ;  Mr.  M'Ruen  very  shortly 
afterwards  presented  himself  at  the  Internal  Navigation,  and 
introduced  himself  to  our  hero.  He  did  this  with  none  of  the 
over-bearing  harshness  of  the  ordinary  dun,  or  the  short  caustic 
decision  of  a  creditor  determined  to  resort  to  the  utmost  severity 
of  the  law.  He  turned  his  head  about  and  smiled,  and  just 
showed  the  end  of  the  bill  peeping  out  from  among  a  parcel  of 
others,  begged  Mr.  Tudor  to  be  punctual,  he  would  only  ask  him 
to  be  punctual,  and  would  in  such  case  do  anything  for  him,  and 
ended  his  visit  by  making  an  appointment  to  meet  Charley  in 
the  little  street  behind  Mecklenburg  Square.  Charley  kept  his 
appointment,  and  came  away  from  Mr.  M'Ruen's  with  a  well 
contented  mind.  He  had,  it  is  true,  left  51.  behind  him,  and 
had  also  left  the  bill,  still  entire  ;  but  he  had  obtained  a  promise 
of  unlimited  assistance  from  the  good-natured  gentleman,  and 
had  also  received  instructions  how  he  was  to  get  a  brother  clerk 
to  draw  a  bill,  how  he  was  to  accept  it  himself,  and  how  his 
patron  was  to  discount  it  for  him,  paying  him  real  gold  out  of 
the  Bank  of  England  in  exchange  for  his  worthless  signature. 

Charley  stepped  lighter  on  the  ground  as  he  left  Mr.  M'Ruen's 
house  on  that  eventful  morning,  than  he  had  done  for  many  a 
day.  There  was  something  delightful  in  the  feeling  that  he 
could  make  money  of  his  name  in  this  way,  as  great  bankers  do 
of  theirs,  by  putting  it  at  the  bottom  of  a  scrap  of  paper.  He 
experienced  a  sort  of  pride,  too,  in  having  achieved  so  respectable 
a  position  in  the  race  of  ruin  which  he  was  running,  as  to  have 
dealings  with  a  bill-discounter.  He  felt  that  he  was  putting 
himself  on  a  par  with  great  men,  and  rising  above  the  low  level 
of  the  infernal  navvies.  Mr.  M'Ruen  had  pulled  the  bill  out  of 
a  heap  of  bills  which  he  always  carried  in  his  huge  pocket-book, 


180  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

and  showed  to  Charley  tlie  name  of  an  impoverished  Irish  peer 
on  the  back  of  it ;  and  the  sight  of  that  name  had  made  Charley 
quite  in  love  with  ruin.  He  already  felt  that  he  was  almost 
hand-and-glove  with  Lord  Mount-Coflfeehouse ;  for  it  was  a 
descendant  of  the  nobleman  so  celebrated  in  song.  "  Only  be 
punctual,  Mr.  Tudor ;  only  be  punctual,  and  I  will  do  anything 
for  you,"  Mr.  M'Ruen  had  said,  as  Charley  left  the  house. 
Charley,  however,  never  had  been  punctual,  and  yet  his  dealings 
with  Mr.  M'Ruen  had  gone  on  from  that  day  to  this.  What 
absolute  money  he  had  ever  received  into  his  hand,  he  could 
not  now  have  said,  but  it  was  very  little,  probably  not  amount- 
ing in  all  to  501.  Yet  he  had  already  paid  during  the  two  years 
more  than  double  that  sum  to  this  sharp-clawed  vulture,  and 
still  owed  him  the  amounts  of  more  bills  than  he  could  number. 
Indeed,  he  had  kept  no  account  of  these  double-fanged  little 
documents ;  he  had  signed  them  whenever  told  to  do  so,  and 
had  even  been  so  preposterously  foolish  as  to  sign  them  in  blank. 
All  he  knew  was  that  at  the  beginning  of  every  quarter,  Mr. 
M'Ruen  got  nearly  the  half  of  his  little  modicum  of  salary,  and 
that  towards  the  middle  of  it  he  usually  contrived  to  obtain  an 
advance  of  some  small,  some  very  small  sum,  and  that  when 
doing  so,  he  always  put  his  hand  to  a  fresh  bit  of  paper. 

He  was  beginning  to  be  heartily  sick  of  the  bill-discounter. 
His  intimacy  with  the  lord  had  not  yet  commenced ;  nor  had 
he  experienced  any  of  the  delights  which  he  had  expected  to 
accrue  to  him  from  the  higher  tone  of  extravagance  in  which  he 
entered  when  he  made  Mr.  M'Ruen's  acquaintance.  And  then 
the  horrid  fatal  waste  of  time  which  he  incurred  in  pursuit  of 
the  few  pounds  which  he  occasionally  obtained,  filled  even  his 
heart  with  a  sort  of  despair.  Morning  after  morning  he  would 
wait  in  that  hated  room ;  and  then  day  after  day,  at  two  o'clock, 
he  would  attend  the  usurer's  city  haunt — and  generally  all  in 
vain.  The  patience  of  Mr.  Snape  was  giving  way,  and  the 
discipline  even  of  the  Internal  Navigation  felt  itself  outraged. 

And  now  Charley  stood  once  more  in  that  dingy  little  front 
parlor  in  which  he  had  never  yet  seen  a  fire,  and  once  more 
Mr.  Jabesh  M'Ruen  shuffled  into  the  room  in  his  big  cravat  and 
dirty  loose  slippers. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Tudor,  how  d'ye  do  ?  I  hope  you  have 
brought  a  little  of  this  with  you  ;"  and  Jabesh  opened  out  his 
left  hand,  and  tapped  the  palm  of  it  with  the  middle  finger  of 
his  right,  by  way  of  showing  that  he  expected  some  money  : 
not  that  he  did  expect  any,  cormorant  as  he  was ;  this  was  not 


MORNING.  181 

the  period  of  the  quarter  in  which  he  ever  got  money  from  his 
customer. 

"  Indeed  I  have  not,  Mr.  M'Ruen ;  but  I  positively  must  get 
some." 

"  Oh — oh — oh — oh — Mr.  Tudor — Mr.  Tudor !  How  can  we 
go  on  if  you  are  so  unpunctual  ?  Now  I  wo^ild  do  anything 
for  you  if  you  would  only  be  punctual." 

"  Oh  !  bother  about  that — you  know  your  own  game  well 
enough." 

"  Be  punctual,  Mr.  Tudor,  only  be  punctual,  and  we  shall  be 
all  right — and  so  you  have  not  got  any  of  this  ?"  and  Jabesh 
went  through  the  tapping  again. 

"Not  a  doit,"  said  Charley;  "but  I  shall  be  up  the  spout 
altogether  if  you  don't  do  something  to  help  me." 

"  But  you  are  so  unpunctual,  Mr.  Tudor." 

"  Oh,  d it;  you'll  make  me  sick  if  you  say  that  again. 

What  else  do  you  live  by  but  that  ?  But  I  positively  must  have 
some  money  from  you  to-day.     If  not  I  am  done  for." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can,  Mr.  Tudor ;  not  to-day,  Mr.  Tudor — 
some  other  day,  say  this  day  month  ;  that  is,  if  you'll  be 
punctual." 

"  This  day  month  !  no,  but  this  very  day,  Mr.  M'Ruen — why, 
you  got  181.  from  me  when  I  received  my  last  salary,  and  I 
iiave  not  had  a  shilling  back  since." 

"  But  you  are  so  unpunctual,  Mr.  Tudor,"  and  Jabesh  twisted 
his  head  backwards  and  forwards  within  his  cravat,  rubbing  Jiis 
chin  with  the  interior  starch. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Charley,  "  I'll  be 
shot  if  you  get  a  shilling  from  me  on  the  1st  of  October,  and 
you  may  sell  me  up  as  quick  as  you  please.  If  I  don't  give  a 
history  of  your  business  that  will  surprise  some  people,  my 
name  isn't  Tudor." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !"  laughed  Mr.  M'Ruen,  with  a  soft  quiet  laugh. 
"  Well,  really,  Mr.  Tudor,  I  would  do  more  for  you  than  any 
other  young  man  that  I  know,  if  you  were  only  a  little  more 
punctual.     How  much  is  it  you  want  now  ?" 

"  15/.— or  10/.— 10/.  will  do." 

"  Ten  pounds !"  said  Jabesh,  as  though  Charley  had  asked 
for  ten  thousand — "ten  pounds! — if  two  or  three  would  do " 

"  But  two  or  three  won't  do." 

"  And  whose  name  will  you  bring  ?" 

"  Whose  name !  why  Scatterall's,  to  be  sure."  Now  Scatter- 
all  was  one  of  the  navvies ;  and  from  him  Mr.  M'Ruen  had  not 


182  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

yet  succeeded  in  extracting  one  farthing,  though  he  had  his 
name  on  a  volume  of  Charley's  bills. 

"  Scatterall — I  don't  like  Mr.  Scatterall,"  said  Jabesh  ;  "  he 
is  very  dissipated,  and  the  most  unpunctual  young  man  I  ever 
met — you  really  must  get  some  else,  Mr.  Tudor ;  you  really 
must." 

"  Oh,  that's  nonsense — Scatterall  is  as  good  as  anybody — I 
couldn't  ask  any  of  the  other  fellows — they  are  such  a  low  set." 

"  But  Mr.  Scatterall  is  so  unpunctual.  There's  your  cousin, 
Mr.  Alaric  Tudor." 

"  My  cousin  Alaric !  Oh,  nonsense !  you  don't  suppose  I'd 
ask  him  to  do  such  a  thing  ?  You  might  as  well  tell  me  to  go 
to  my  father." 

"  Or  that  other  gentleman  you  live  with  ;  Mr.  Norman.  He 
is  a  most  punctual  gentleman.  Bring  me  his  name,  and  I'll  let 
you  have  lOl.  or  Si. — I'll  let  you  have  8^.  at  once." 

"  I  dare  say  you  will,  Mr.  M'Ruen,  or  80^. ;  and  be  only  too 
happy  to  give  it  me.  But  you  know  that  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Now  I  won't  wait  any  longer ;  just  give  me  an  answer 
to  this :  if  I  come  to  you  in  the  city  will  you  let  me  have  some 
money  to-day?  If  you  won't,  why  I  must  go  elsewhere — 
that's  all." 

The  interview  ended  by  an  appointment  being  made  for 
another  meeting  to  come  off  at  2  p.m.  that  day,  at  the  "  Banks 
of  Jordan,"  a  public-house  in  Sweeting's  Alley,  as  well  known 
to  Charley  as  the  little  front  parlor  of  Mr.  M'Ruen's  house. 
"  Bring  the  bill-stamp  with  you,  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  Jabesh,  by 
way  of  a  last  parting  word  of  counsel ;  "  and  let  Mr.  Scatterall 
sign  it — that  is,  if  it  must  be  Mr.  Scatterall ;  but  I  wish  you 
would  bring  your  cousin's  name." 

"  Nonsense !" 

"  Well,  then  bring  it  signed — but  I'll  fill  it ;  you  young 
fellows  understand  nothing  of  filling  in  a  bill  properly." 

And  then  taking  his  leave  the  infernal  navvy  hurried  ofi",  and 
reached  his  ofiice  in  Somerset  House  at  a  quarter  past  11  o'clock. 
As  he  walked  along  he  bought  the  bit  of  stamped  paper  on 
which  his  friend  Scatterall  was  to  write  his  name. 

When  he  reached  the  office  he  found  that  a  great  com- 
motion was  going  on.  Mr.  Snape  was  standing  up  at  his  dfesk, 
and  the  first  words  which  greeted  Charley's  ears  was  an  intima- 
tion from  that  gentleman  that  Mr.  Oldeschole  had  desired  that 
Mr.  Tudor,  when  he  arrived,  should  be  instructed  to  attend  in 
the  board-room. 


MOENING.  183 

"  Very  well,"  said  Charley,  in  a  tone  of  great  indifference, 
"  with  all  my  heart ;  I  rather  like  seeing  Oldeschole  now  and 
then.  But  he  mustn't  keep  me  long,  for  I  have  to  meet  my 
grandmother  at  Islington  at  2  o'clock ;"  and  Charley,  having 
hung  up  his  hat,  prepared  to  walk  off  to  the  Secretary's  room. 

"  You'll  be  good  enough  to  wait  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Tudor," 
said  Snape.  "Another  gentleman  is  with  Mr.  Oldeschole  at 
present.  You  will  be  good  enough  to  sit  down  and  go  on  with 
the  Kennett  and  Avon  lock  entries,  till  Mr.  Oldeschole  is  ready 
to  see  you." 

'  Charley  sat  down  at  his  desk  opposite  to  his  friend  Scatterall. 
"  I  hope,  Mr.  Snape,  you  had  a  pleasant  meeting  at  evening 
prayers  yesterday,"  said  he,  with  a  tone  of  extreme  interest. 

"  You  had  better  mind  the  lock  entries  at  present,  Mr. 
Tudor  ;  they  are  greatly  in  arrear." 

"  And  the  evening  meetings  are  docketed  up  as  close  as  wax, 
I  suppose.  What  the  deuce  is  in  the  wind,  Dick?"  Mr. 
Scatterall's  Christian  name  was  Richard.  "Where's  Cork- 
screw?" Mr.  Corkscrew  was  also  a  navvy,  and  was  one  of 
those  to  whom  Charley  had  specially  alluded  when  he  spoke 
of  the  low  set. 

"  Oh,  here's  a  regular  go,"  said  Scatterall.  "  It's  all  up  with 
Corkscrew,  I  believe." 

"  Why,  what's  the  cheese  now  ?" 

"  Oh !  it's  all  about  some  pork  chops,  which  Screwy  had  for 
supper  last  night."  Screwy  was  a  name  of  love  which  among 
his  brother  navvies  was  given  to  Mr.  Corkscrew.  "  Mr.  Snape 
seems  to  think  they  did  not  agree  with  him." 

"  Pork  chops  in  July  !"  exclaimed  Charley. 

"  Poor  Screwy  forgot  the  time  of  year,"  said  another  navvy ; 
"  he  ought  to  have  called  it  lamb  and  grass." 

And  then  the  story  was  told.  On  the  preceding  afternoon, 
Mr.  Corkscrew  had  been  subjected  to  the  dire  temptation  of  a 
boating  party  to  the  Eel-pie  Island  for  the  following  day,  and  a 
dinner  thereon.  There  were  to  be  at  the^east  no  less  than 
four-and-twenty  jolly  souls,  and  it  was  intimated  to  Mr.  Cork- 
screw that  as  no  soul  was  esteemed  to  be  more  jolly  than  his 
own,  the  party  would  be  considered  as  very  imperfect  unless  he 
could  join  it.  Asking  for  a  day's  leave  Mr.  Corkscrew  knew  to 
be  out  of  the  question  ;  he  had  already  taken  too  many  without 
asking.  He  was  therefore  driven  to  take  another  in  the  same 
way,  and  had  to  look  about  for  some  excuse  which  might 
support  him  in  his  difficulty.     An  excuse  it  must  be,  not  only 


184  THE   THEEE   CLEEKS. 

new,  but  very  valid  ;  one  so  strong  that  it  could  not  be  overset ; 
one  so  well  vouclied  that  it  could  not  be  doubted.  Accordingly, 
after  mature  consideration,  he  sat  down  after  leaving  his  office, 
and  wrote  the  following  letter,  before  he  started  on  an  evening 
cruising  expedition  with  some  others  of  the  party  to  prepare  for 
the  next  day's  festivities. 

"Thursday  morning, — July,  185- 
"  My  Dear  Sir, 

"  I  write  from  my  bed  where  I  am  suffering  a  most 
tremendous  indiggestion,  last  night  I  eat  a  stunning  supper  off 
pork  chopps  and  never  remembered  that  pork  chopps  always 
does  disagree  with  me,  but  I  was  very  indiscrete  and  am  now 
teetotally  unable  to  rise  my  throbbing  head  from  off  my  pillar, 
I  have  took  four  blu  pills  and  some  salts  and  sena,  plenty  of 
that,  and  shall  be  the  thing  to-morrow  morning  no  doubt,,  just 
at  present  I  feel  just  as  if  I  had  a  mill  stone  inside  my  stomac 
— Pray  be  so  kind  as  to,  make  it  all  right  with  Mr.  Oldeschole 
and  believe  me  to  remain, 

"  Your  faithful  and  obedient  servant, 

"Verax  Corkscrew. 
"  Thomas  Snape,  Esq.,  &c., 
"  Internal  Navigation  Office,  Somerset  House." 

"^^HEIaving  composed  this  letter  of  excuse,  and  not  intending  to 
return  to  his  lodgings  that  evening,  he  had  to  make  provision 
for  its  safely  reaching  the  hands  of  Mr.  Snape  in  due  time  on 
the  following  morning.  This  he  did,  by  giving  it  to  the  boy 
who  came  to  clean  the  lodging-house  boots,  with  sundry  injunc- 
tions that  if  he  did  not  deliver  it  at  the  office  by  ten  o'clock  on 
the  following  morning,  the  sixpence  accruing  to  him  would  never 
be  paid.  Mr.  Corkscrew,  however,  said  nothing  as  to"  the  letter 
not  being  delivered  before  ten  the  next  morning,  and  as  other 
business  took  the  boy  along  the  Strand  the  same  evening,  he 
saw  no  reason  wjjy  he  should  not  then  execute  his  commis- 
sion. He  accordingly  did  so,  and  duly  delivered  the  letter  into 
the  hands  of  a  servant  girl,  who  was  cleaning  the  passages  of 
the  office. 

Fortune  on  this  occasion  was  blind  to  the  merits  of  Mr.  Cork- 
screw, and  threw  him  over  most  unmercifully.  It  so  happened 
that  Mr.  Snape  had  been  summoned  to  an  evening  conference 
with  Mr.  Oldeschole  and  the  other  pundits  of  the  office,  to  discuss 
with  them,  or  rather  to  hear  discussed,  some  measure  which  they 


MOKNING.  185 

began  to  think  it  necessary  to  introduce,  for  amending  the  disci- 
pline of  the  department. 

"  We  are  getting  a  bad  name,  whetlier  we  deserve  it  or  not," 
said  Mr.  Oldeschole.  "  That  fellow  Hardlines  has  put  us  into 
his  blue-book,  and  now  there's  an  article  in  the  '  Times  !'  " 

Just  at  this  moment,  a  messenger  brought  in  to  Mr.  Snape 
the  unfortunate  letter  of  which  we  have  given  a  copy. 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Oldeschole. 

"A  note  from  Mr.  Corkscrew,  sir,"  said  Snape. 

"  He's  the  worst  of  the  whole  lot,"  said  Mr.  Oldeschole. 

"He  is  very  bad,"  said  Snape;  "but  I  rather  think  that  per- 
haps, sir,  Mr.  Tudor  is  tli.e  worst  of  all." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  saTcTthe  Secretary,  muttering  sotto  voce 
to  the  Under-Secretary,  while  Mr.  Snape  read  the  letter — 
"Tudor,  at  any  rate,  is  a  gentleman." 

Mr.  Snape  read  the  letter,  and  his  face  grew  very  long.  There 
was  a  sort  of  sneaking  civility  about  Corkscrew,  not  prevalent 
indeed  at  all  times,  but  which  chiefly  showed  itself  when  he  and 
Mr.  Snape  were  alone  together,  which  somewhat  endeared  him 
to  the  elder  clerk.  He  would  have  screened  the  sinner  had  he 
had  either  the  necessary  presence  of  mind  or  the  necessary  pluck. 
But  he  had  neither.  He  did  not  know  how  to  account  for  the 
letter  but  by  the  truth,  and  he  feared  to  conceal  so  flagrant  a 
breach  of  discipline  at  the  moment  of  the  present  discussion. 

Things  at  any  rate  so  turned  out  that  Mr.  Corkscrew's  letter 
was  read  in  full  conclave  in  the  board-room  of  the  ofiice,  just  as 
he  was  describing  the  excellence  of  his  manoeuvre  with  great 
glee  to  four  or  five  other  jolly  souls  at  the  "  Magpie  and  Stump  !" 

At  first  it  was  impossible  to  prevent  a  fit  of  laughter,  in  which 
even  Mr.  Snape  joined ;  but  very  shortly  the  laughter  gave  way 
to  the  serious  considerations  to  which  such  an  epistle  was  sure 
to  give  rise  at  such  a  moment.  What  if  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines 
should  get  hold  of  it  and  put  it  into  his  blue-book?  What  if 
the  "  Times"  should  print  it  and  send  it  over  the  whole  world, 
accompanied  by  a  few  of  its  most  venomous  touches,  to  the 
eternal  disgrace  of  the  Internal  Navigation,  and  probable  utter 
annihilation  of  Mr.  Oldeschole's  official  career !  An  example 
must  be  made ! 

Yes,  an  example  must  be  made.  Messengers  were  sent  off, 
scouring  the  town  for  Mr.  Corkscrew,  and  about  midnight  he 
was  found,  still  true  to  the  "  Magpie  and  Stump,"  but  hardly  in 
condition  to  understand  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen  him. 
So  much  as  this,  however,  did  make  itself  manifest  to  him,  that 


186  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

he  mnst  by  no  means  join  his  jolly-souled  brethren  at  the  Eel- 
pie  Island,  and  that  he  must  be  at  his  office  punctually  at  ten 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  if  he  had  any  intention  of  saving  him- 
self from  dismissal.  When  Charley  arrived  at  his  office,  Mr. 
Corkscrew  was  still  with  the  authorities,  and  Charley's  turn  was 
to  come  next. 

Charley  was  rather  a  favourite  with  Mr.  Oldeschole,  having 
been  appointed  by  himself  at  the  instance  of  Mr.  Oldeschole's 
great  friend,  Sir  Gilbert  de  Salop ;  and  he  was,  moreover,  the 
best-looking  of  the  whole  lot  of  navvies ;  but  he  was  no 
favorite  with  Mr.  Snape. 

"Poor  Screwy — it  will  be  all  up  with  him,"  said  Charley. 
"  He  might  just  as  well  have  gone  on  with  his  party  and  had 
his  fun  out." 

"It  will,  I  imagine,  be  necessary  to  make  more  than  one 
example,  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  Mr.  Snape,  with  a  voice  of  utmost 
severity. 

"  A-a-a-men,"  said  Charley.  "  If  everything  else  fails,  I  think 
I  '11  go  into  the  green  line.  You  couldn't  give  me  a  helping 
hand,  could  you,  Mr.  Snape  ?"  There  was  a  rumor  afloat  in 
the  office  that  Mr.  Snape's  wife  held  some  little  interest  in  a 
small  greengrocer's  establishment. 

"  Mr.  Tudor  to  attend  in  the  board-room,  immediately,"  said 
a  fat  messenger,  who  opened  the  door  wide  with  a  start,  and 
then  stood  with  it  in  his  hand  while  he  delivered  the  message. 

"  All  right,"  said  Charley  ;  "  I  '11  tumble  up  and  be  with  them 
in  ten  seconds  ;"  and  then  collecting  together  a  large  bundle  of 
the  arrears  of  the  Kennett  and  Avon  lock  entries,  being  just  as 
much  as  he  could  carry,  he  took  the  disordered  papers  and 
placed  them  on  Mr.  Snape's  desk,  exactly  over  the  paper  on 
which  he  was  writing,  and  immediately  under  his  nose. 

"  Mr.  Tudor— Mr.  Tudor  !"  said  Snape. 

"  As  I  am  to  tear  myself  away  from  you,  Mr.  Snape,  it  is 
better  that  I  should  hand  over  these  valuable  documents  to  your 
safe  keeping.  There  they  are,  Mr.  Snape ;  pray  see  that  you 
have  got  them  all ;"  and  so  saying,  he  left  the  room  to  attend 
to  the  high  behests  of  Mr.  Oldeschole. 

As  he  went  along  the  passages  he  met  Yerax  Corkscrew 
returning  from  his  interview.  "  Well,  Screwy,"  said  he,  "  and 
how  fares  it  with  you  ?  Pork  chops  are  bad  things  in  summer, 
ain't  they  ?" 

"  It 's  all  U-P,"  said  Corkscrew,  almost  crying.  "  I'm  to  go 
down  to  the  bottom,  and  I'm  to^stay  at  the  office  till  seven 


AFTERNOON.  187 

o'clock  every  day  for  a  month ;  and  old  Foolscap  says  lie  '11 
ship  me  the  next  time  I  'm  absent  half-an-hour  without  leave." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all  ?"  said  Charley.  "  If  that 's  all  yon  get  for 
pork  chops  and  senna,  I  'm  all  right.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I 
did  not  get  promoted  ;"  and  so  he  went  in  to  his  interview. 

What  was  the  nature  of  the  advice  given  him,  what  amount 
of  caution  he  was  called  on  to  endure,  need  not  here  be  exactly 
specified.  We  all  know  with  how  light  a  rod  a  father  chastises 
the  son  he  loves,  let  Solomon  have  given  what  counsel  he  may 
to  the  contrary.  Charley,  in  spite  of  his  manifold  sins,  was  a 
favorite,  and  he  came  forth  from  the  board-room  an  unscathed 
man.  In  fact,  he  had  been  promoted  as  he  had  surmised,  seeing 
that  Corkscrew  who  had  been  his  senior  was  now  his  junior. 
He  came  forth  unscathed,  and  walking  with  an  easy  air  into  his 
room,  put  his  hat  on  his  head  and  told  his  brother  clerks  that 
he  should  be  there  to-morrow  morning  at  ten,  or  at  any  rate 
soon  after. 

"  And  where  are  you  going  now,  Mr.  Tudor  ?"  said  Snape. 

"  To  meet  my  grandmother  at  Islington,  if  you  please,  sir," 
said  Charley.  "I  have  permission  from  Mr.  Oldeschole  to 
attend  upon  her  for  the  rest  of  the  day — perhaps  you  would 
like  to  ask  him."  And  so  saying  he  went  off  to  his  appoint- 
ment with  Mr.  M'Ruen  at  the  "  Banks  of  Jordan." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A   DAY   WITH    ONE    OP    THE    NAVVIES. AFTERNOON. 

The  "  Banks  of  Jordan"  was  a  public-house  in  the  city,  which 
from  its  appearance  did  not  seem  to  do  a  very  thriving  trade  ; 
but  as  it  was  carried  on  from  year  to  year  in  the  same  dull, 
monotonous,  dead-alive  sort  of  fashion,  it  must  be  surmised  that 
some  one  found  an  interest  in  keeping  it  open. 

Charley,  when  he  entered  the  door  punctually  at  two  o'clock, 
saw  that  it  was  as  usual  nearly  deserted.  One  long,  lanky,  mid- 
dle-aged man,  seedy  as  to  his  outward  vestments,  and  melancholy 
in  countenance,  sat  at  one  of  the  tables.  But  he  was  doing 
very  little  good  for  the  establishment ;  he  had  no  refreshment 
of  any  kind  before  him,  and  was  intent  only  on  a  dingy  pocket- 
book  in  which  he  was  making  entries  with  a  pencil. 

You  enter  the  "  Banks  of  Jordan"  by  two  folding  doors  in  a 
corner  of  a  very  narrow  alley  behind  the  Exchange.  As  you 
go  in,  you  observe  on  your  left  a  little  glass  partition,  something 


188  THE  THEEE   CLEEKS. 

like  a  large  cage,  inside  which,  in  a  bar,  are  four  or  five 
untempting-looking  bottles ;  and  also  inside  the  cage,  on  a  chair, 
is  to  be  seen  a  quiet-looking  female,  who  is  invariably  engaged 
in  the  manufacture  of  some  white  article  of  inward  clothing. 
Anything  less  like  the  flashy-dressed  bar-maidens  of  the  western 
gin  palaces  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine.  To  this  encaged 
sempstress  no  one  ever  speaks  unless  it  be  to  give  a  rare  order 
for  a  mutton  chop  or  pint  of  stout.  And  even  for  this  she 
hardly  stays  her  sewing  for  a  moment,  but  touches  a  small 
bell,  and  the  ancient  waiter,  who  never  shows  himself  but  when 
called  for,  and  who  is  the  only  other  inhabitant  of  the  place  ever 
visible,  receives  the  order  from  her  through  an  open  pane  in  the 
cage  as  quietly  as  she  received  it  from  her  customer. 

The  floor  of  the  single  square  room  of  the  establishment  is 
sanded,  and  the  tables  are  ranged  round  the  walls,  each  table 
being  fixed  to  the  floor,  and  placed  within  wooden  partitions, 
by  which  the  occupier  is  screened  from  any  inquiring  eyes  on 
either  side. 

Such  was  Mr.  Jabesh  M'Ruen's  house  of  call  in  the  city,  and 
of  many  a  mutton  chop  and  many  a  pint  of  stout  had  Charley 
partaken  there  while  waiting  for  the  man  of  money.  To  him 
it  seemed  to  be  inexcusable  to  sit  down  in  a  public  inn  and  call 
for  nothing ;  he  perceived,  however,  that  the  large  majority  of 
the  frequenters  of  the  "  Banks  of  Jordan"  so  conducted  them- 
selves. 

He  was  sufficiently  accustomed  to  the  place  to  know  how  to 
give  his  orders  without  troubling  that  diligent  barmaid,  and 
had  done  so  about  ten  minutes  when  Jabesh,  more  punctual 
than  usual,  entered  the  place.  This  Charley  regarded  as  a 
promising  sign  of  forthcoming  cash.  It  very  frequently  hap- 
pened that  he  waited  there  an  hour,  and  that  after  all  Jabesh 
would  not  come ;  and  then  the  morning  visit  to  Mecklenburg 
Square  had  to  be  made  again ;  and  so  poor  Charley's  time,  or 
rather  the  time  of  his  poor  office,  was  cut  up,  wasted,  and 
destroyed. 

"  A  mutton  chop !"  said  Mr.  M'Ruen,  looking  at  Charley's 
banquet.  "  A  very  nice  thing  indeed  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 
I  don't  mind  if  I  have  one  myself,"  and  so  Charley  had  to  order 
another  chop  and  more  stout. 

"  They  have  very  nice  sherry  here,  excellent  sherry,"  said 
M'Ruen.  "The  best,  I  think,  in  the  city — that's  why  I  come 
here." 

"Upon  my  honor,  Mr.  M'Ruen,  I  shan't  have  money  to  pay 


AFTERNOON.  189 

for  it  until  I  get  some  from  you,"  said  Charley,  as  lie  called  for 
a  pint  of  sherry. 

"Never  mind,  John,  never  mind  the  sherry  to-day,"  said 
M'Riien.  "  Mr.  Tudor  is  very  kind,  but  I'll  take  beer  ;"  and  the 
little  man  gave  a  laugh  and  twisted  his  head,  and  ate  his  chop 
and  drank  his  stout,  as  though  he  found  that  both  were  very 
good  indeed.  When  he  had  finished,  Charley  paid  the  bill  and 
discovered  that  he  "was  left  with  ninepence  in  his  pocket. 

And  then  he  produced  the  bill  stamp.  "  AVaiter,"  said  he, 
"  pen  and  ink,"  and  the  waiter  brought  pen  and  ink. 

"Not  to-day,"  said  Jabesh,  wiping  his  mouth  with  the  table- 
cloth. "Not  to-day,  Mr.  Tudor — I  really  haven't  time  to  go 
into  it  to-day — and  I  haven't  brought  the  other  bills  with  me ; 
I  quite  forgot  to  bring  the  other  bills  wnth  me,  and  I  can  do 
nothing  without  them,"  and  Mr.  M'Ruen  got  up  to  go. 

But  this  was  too  much  for  Charley.  He  had  often  before 
bpught  bill  stamps  in  vain,  and  in  vain  had  paid  for  mutton 
cjops  and  beer  for  Mr.  M'Rueu's  dinner ;  but  he  had  never 
before,  when  doing  so,  been  so  hard  pushed  for  money  as  he 
w^as  now.  He  was  determined  to  make  a  great  attempt  to  gain 
his  object. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  he,  getting  up  and  standing  so  as  to  pre- 
vent M'Ruen  from  leaving  the  box  ;  "  that's  d nonsense." 

"  Oh  !  don't  swear,"  said  M'Ruen — "  pray  don't  take  God's 
name  in  vain  ;  I  don't  like  it." 

"  I  shall  swear,  and  to  some  purpose  too,  if  that's  your  game. 
Now  look  here " 

"  Let  me  get  up,  and  we'll  talk  of  it  as  we  go  to  the  bank — - 
you  are  so  unpunctual,  you  know\" 

"  D —  your  punctuality." 

"  Oh  !  don't  swear,  Mr.  Tudor." 

"  Look  here — if  you  don't  let  me  have  this  money  to-day,  by 
all  that  is  holy  I  will  never  pay  you  a  fartliing  again — not  one 
farthing ;  I'll  go  into  the  Court,  and  you  may  get  your  money 
as  you  can." 

"  But,  Mr.  Tudor,  let  me  get  up,  and  w^e'll  talk  about  it  in  the 
street,  as  we  go  along." 

"  There's  the  stamp,"  said  Charley.  "  Fill  it  up,  and  then  I'll 
go  with  you  to  the  bank." 

M'Ruen  took  the  bit  of  paper,  and  twisted  it  over  and  over 
again  in  his  hand,  considering  the  while  whether  he  had  yet 
squeezed  out  of  the  young  man  all  that  could  be  squeezed  w^ith 
safety,  or  whether  by  an  additional  turn,  by  giving  him  another 


190  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

small  advancement,  lie  might  yet  get  something  more.  He 
knew  that  Tudor  was  in  a  very  bad  state,  that  he  was  tottering 
on  the  outside  edge  of  the  precipice  ;  but  he  also  knew  that  he 
had  friends.  Would  his  friends  when  they  came  forward  to 
assist  their  young  Pickle  out  of  the  mire,  would  they  pay  such 
bills  as  these,  or  would  they  leave  poor  Jabesh  to  get  his  remedy 
at  law  ?  That  was  the  question  which  Mr.  M'Ruen  had  to  ask 
and  to  answer.  He  was  not  one  of  those  noble  vultures  who 
fly  at  large  game,  and  who  are  willing  to  run  considerable  risk 
in  pursuit  of  their  prey.  Mr.  M'Ruen  avoided  courts  of  law  as 
much  as  he  could,  and  preferred  a  small  safe  trade  ;  one  in  which 
the  fall  of  a  single  customer  could  never  be  ruinous  to  him ;  in 
which  he  need  run  no  risk  of  being  transported  for  forgery, 
incarcerated  for  perjury,  or  even,  if  possibly  it  might  be  avoided, 
gibbeted  by  some  lawyer  or  judge  for  his  mal-practices. 

"  But  you  are  so  unpunctual,"  he  said,  having  at  last  made 
np  his  mind  that  he  had  made  a  very  good  thing  of  Charley, 
and  that  probably  he  might  a  go  little  further  without  much 
danger.  "  I  wish  to  oblige  you,  Mr.  Tudor ;  but  pray  do  be 
punctual ; "  and  so  saying  he  slowly  spread  the  little  document 
before  him,  across  which  Scatterall  had  already  scrawled  his 
name,  and  slowly  began  to  write  in  the  date.  Slowly,  with  his 
head  low  down  over  the  table,  and  continually  twisting  it  inside 
his  cravat,  he  filled  up  the  paper,  and  then  looking  at  it  with 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur  in  such  matters,  he  gave  it  to  Charley 
to  sign. 

"But  you  haven't  put  in  the  amount,"  said  Charley. 

Mr.  M'Ruen  twisted  his  head  and  laughed.  He  delighted  in 
playing  with  his  game  as  a  fisherman  does  with  a  salmon. 
"  Well — no — I  haven't  put  in  the  amount  yet.  Do  you  sign  it, 
and  I'll  do  that  at  once." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Charley;  "I'll  say  15Z.,  and  you'll  give  me 
101.  on  that." 

"  No,  no,  no  ! "  said  Jabesh,  covering  the  paper  over  with  his 
hands;  "you  young  men  know  nothing  of  tilling  bills;  just 
sign  it,  Mr.  Tudor,  and  I'll  do  the  rest."  And  so  Charley  signed 
it,  and  then  M'Ruen,  again  taking  the  pen,  wrote  in  "fifteen 
pounds"  as  the  recognised  amount  of  the  value  of  the  docu- 
ment. He  also  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  filled  a  cheque, 
but  he  was  very  careful  that  Charley  should  not  see  the  amount 
there  written.    "  And  now,"  said  he,  "  we  will  go  to  the  bank." 

As  they  made  their  way  to  the  house  in  Lombard  Street 
which  Mr.  M'Ruen  honored  by  his  account,  Charley  insisted  on 


AFTEKNOON.  191 

knowing  how  much  he  was  to  have  for  the  bill.  Jabesh  sug- 
gested 3/.  106'.;  Charley  swore  he  would  take  nothing  less  than 
8/. ;  but  by  the  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  bank,  it  had  been 
settled  that  5/.  was  to  be  paid  in  cash,  and  that  Charley  was  to 
have  the  three  Seasons  for  the  balance  whenever  he  chose  to 
send  for  them.  When  Charley,  as  he  did  at  first,  positively 
refused  to  accede  to  these  terms,  Mr.  M'Ruen  tendered  him 
back  the  bill,  and  reminded  him  with  a  plaintive  voice  that  he 
was  so  unpunctual,  so  extremely  unpunctual. 

Having  reached  the  bank,  which  the  money-lender  insisted 
on  Charley  entering  with  him,  Mr.  M'Ruen  gave  the  cheque 
across  the  counter,  and  wrote  on  the  back  of  it  the  form  in 
which  he  would  take  the  money,  whereupon  a  note  and  five 
sovereigns  were  handed  to  him.  The  cheque  was  for  15/.,  and 
was  payable  to  C.  Tudor,  Esq.,  so  that  proof  might  be  forth- 
coming at  a  future  time,  if  necessary,  that  he  had  given  to  his 
customer  full  value  for  the  bill.  Then  in  the  outer  hall  of  the 
bank,  unseen  by  the  clerks,  he  put,  one  after  another,  slowly 
and  unwillingly,  four  sovereigns  into  Charley's  hand. 

"  The  other — where's  the  other  ?"  said  Charley. 

Jabesh  smiled  sweetly  and  twisted  his  head. 

"  Come,  give  me  the  other,"  said  Charley  roughly. 

"  Four  is  quite  enough,  quite  enough  for  what  you  want ;  and 
remember  my  time,  Mr.  Tudor;  you  should  remember  my 
time." 

"  Give  me  the  other  sovereign,"  said  Charley,  taking  hold  of 
the  front  of  his  coat. 

"  Well,  well,  you  shall  have  ten  shillings ;  but  I  want  the 
rest  Tor  a  purpose." 

"  Give  me  the  sovereign,"  said  Charley,  "  or  I'll  drag  you  in 
before  them  all  in  the  bank  and  expose  you ;  give  me  the  other 
sovereign,  I  say." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !"  laughed  Mr.  M'Ruen ;  "  I  thought  you  liked 
a  joke,  Mr.  Tudor.  Well,  here  it  is.  And  now  do  be  punctual, 
pray  do  be  punctual,  and  I'll  do  anything  I  can  for  you." 

And  then  they  parted,  Charley  going  westward  towards  his 
own  haunts,  and  M'Ruen  following  his  daily  pursuits  in  the  city. 

Charley  had  engaged  to  pull  up  to  Avis's  at  Putney  with 
Harry  Norman,  to  dine  there,  take  a  country  walk,  and  row 
back  in  the  cool  of  the  evening ;  and  he  had  promised  to  call 
at  the  Weights  and  Measures  with  that  object  punctually  at  five. 

"  You  can  get  away  in  time  for  that,  I  suppose,"  said  Harry. 

"  Well,  I'll  try  and  manage  it,"  said  Charley,  laughing. 


192  THE   THEEE    CLERKS. 

Nothing  could  be  kinder,  nay,  more  affectionate,  than  Nor- 
man had  been  to  his  fellow-lodger  during  the  last  year  and  a 
half.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  transferred  to  Alaric's  cousin 
all  the  friendship  which  he  had  once  felt  for  Alaric ;  and  the 
deeper  were  Charley's  sins  of  idleness  and  extravagance,  the 
wider  grew  Norman's  forgiveness,  and  the  more  sincere  his 
efforts  to  befriend  him.  As  one  result  of  this,  Charley  was 
already  deep  in  his  debt.  Not  that  Norman  had  lent  him 
money,  or  even  paid  bills  for  him ;  but  the  lodgings  in  which 
they  lived  had  been  taken  by  Norman,  and  when  the  end  of 
the  quarter  came  he  punctually  paid  his  landlady. 

Charley  had  once,  a  few  weeks  before  the  period  of  which  we 
are  now  writing,  told  Norman  that  he  had  no  money  to  pay  his 
long  arrear,  and  that  he  would  leave  the  lodgings  and  shift  for 
himself  as  best  he  could.  He  had  said  the  same  thing  to  Mrs. 
Richards,  the  landlady,  and  had  gone  so  far  as  to  pack  up  all 
his  clothes ;  but  his  back  was  no  sooner  turned  than  Mrs.  Ri- 
chards, under  Norman's  orders,  unpacked  them  all,  and  hid 
away  the  portmanteau.  It  was  well  for  him  that  this  was  done. 
He  had  bespoken  for  himself  a  bedroom  at  the  public-house 
in  Norfolk  Street,  and  had  he  once  taken  up  his  residence  there 
he  would  have  been  ruined  for  ever. 

He  was  still  living  with  Norman,  and  ever  increasing  his 
debt.  In  his  misery  at  this  state  of  affairs,  he  had  talked  over 
with  Harry  all  manner  of  schemes  for  increasing  his  income, 
but  he  had  never  told  him  a  word  about  Mr.  M'Ruen.  Why 
his  salary,  which  was  now  1501  per  annum,  should  not  be  able 
to  support  him,  Norman  never  asked.  Charley  the  while  was 
very  miserable,  and  the  more  miserable  he  was,  the  less  he  f(?und 
himself  able  to  rescue  himself  from  his  dissipation.  What  mo- 
ments of  ease  he  had  were  nearly  all  spent  in  Norfolk  Street ; 
and  such  being  the  case  how  could  he  abstain  from  going  there  ? 

"  Well,  Charley,  and  how  do  '  Crinoline  and  Macassar'  go 
Dn?"  said  Norman,  as  they  sauntered  away  together  up  the 
towing-path  above  Putney.  Now  there  were  those  who  had 
found  out  that  Charley  Tudor,  in  spite  of  his  wretched  idle 
vagabond  mode  of  life,  was  no  fool ;  indeed  that  there  was  that 
talent  within  him  which,  if  turned  to  good  account,  might  per- 
haps redeem  him  from  ruin  and  set  him  on  his  legs  again ;  at 
least  so  thought  some  of  his  friends,  among  whom  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward was  the  most  prominent.  She  insisted  that  if  he  would 
make  use  of  his  genius  he  might  employ  his  spare  time  to  great 
profit  by  writing  for  magazines  and  periodicals ;  and,  inspirited 


AFTERNOON.  193 

by  so  flattering  a  proposition,  Charley  had  got  himself  intro- 
duced to  the  editor  of  a  newly-projected  publication.  At  his 
instance  he  was  to  write  a  tale  for  approval,  and  "  Crinoline  and 
Macassar"  was  the  name  selected  for  his  first  attempt. 

The  affair  had  been  fully  talked  over  at  Hampton,  and  it  had 
been  arranged  that  the  young  author  should  submit  his  story, 
when  completed,  to  the  friendly  criticism  of  the  party  assembled 
at  Surbiton  Cottage,  before  he  sent  it  to  the  editor.  He  had 
undertaken  to  have  "  Crinoline  and  Macassar"  ready  for  perusal 
on  the  next  Saturday,  and  in  spite  of  Mr.  M'Ruen  and  Norah 
Geraghty,  he  had  really  been  at  work. 

"  Will  it  be  finished  by  Saturday,  Charley  ?"  said  Norman. 

"  Yes — at  least  I  hope  so ;  but  if  that's  not  done,  I  have 
another  all  complete." 

"  Another !  and  what  is  that  called  ?" 

"  Oh,  that's  a  very  short  one,"  said  Charley  modestly. 

"  But  short  as  it  is,  it  must  have  a  name,  I  suppose.  What's 
the  name  of  the  short  one  ?" 

"  Why,  the  name  is  long  enough  ;  it's  the  longest  part  about 
it.  The  editor  gave  me  the  name,  you  know,  and  then  I  had  to 
write  the  story.  It's  to  be  called  '  Sir  Anthony  Allan-a-dale 
and  the  Baron  of  Ballyporeen.'" 

"  Oh  !  two  rival  knights  in  love  with  the  same  lady,  of  course," 
and  Harry  gave  a  gentle  sigh  as  he  thought  of  his  own  still 
unhealed  grief.     "  The  scene  is  laid  in  Ireland,  I  presume  ?" 

"  No,  not  in  Ireland  ;  at  least  not  exactly.  I  don't  think  the 
scene  is  laid  anywhere  in  particular  ;  it's  up  in  a  mountain,  near 
a  castle.     There  isn't  any  lady  in  it — at  least,  not  alive." 

"  Heavens,  Charley !  I  hope  you  are  not  dealing  with  dead 
women." 

"  No — that  is,  I  have  to  bring  them  to  life  again.  I'll  tell 
you  how  it  is.  In  the  first  paragraph,  Sir  Anthony  Allan-a-dale 
is  lying  dead,  and  the  Baron  of  Ballyporeen  is  standing  over 
him  with  a  bloody  sword.  You  must  always  begin  with  an 
incident  now,  and  then  hark  back  for  your  explanation  and 
description  ;  that's  what  the  editor  says  is  the  great  secret  of  the 
present  day,  and  where  we  beat  all  the  old  fellows  that  wrote 
twenty  years  ago." 

"  Oh  ! — yes — I  see.  They  used  to  begin  at  the  beginning  ; 
that  was  very  humdrum." 

"  A  devilish  bore,  you  know,  for  a  fellow  who  takes  up  a 
novel  because  he's  dull.  Of  course  he  wants  his  fun  at  once. 
If  you  begin  with  a  long  history  of  who's  who  and  all  that,  why 

9 


194  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

he  won't  read  three  pages ;  but  if  you  touch  him  up  with  a 
startling  incident  or  two  at  the  first  go  off,  then  give  him  a 
chapter  of  horrors,  then  another  of  fun,  then  a  little  love  or  a 
little  slang,  or  something  of  that  sort,  why,  you  know,  about 
the  end  of  the  first  volume,  you  may  describe  as  much  as  you 
like,  and  tell  everything  about  everybody's  father  and  mother, 
for  just  as  many  pages  as  you  want  to  fill.  At  least,  that's  what 
the  editor  says." 

'•'''•  Meleager  ah  ovo^  may  be  introduced  with  safety  when  you 
get  as  far  as  that,"  suggested  Norman. 

"  Yes,  you  may  bring  him  in  too,  if  you  like,"  said  Charley, 
who  was  somewhat  oblivious  of  his  classical ities.  "  Well,  Sir 
Anthony  is  lying  dead  and  the  Baron  is  standing  over  him, 
when  out  come  Sir  Anthonv's  retainers " 

"Out— out  of  what?" 

"  Out  of  the  castle ;  that's  all  explained  afterwards.  Out  come 
the  retainers,  and  pitch  into  the  Baron  till  they  make  mince- 
meat of  him." 

"  They  don't  kill  him,  too  ?" 

"  Don't  they  though  ?  I  rather  think  they  do,  and  no  mistake." 

"  And  so  both  your  heroes  are  dead  in  the  first  chapter." 

"  First  chapter  !  why  that's  only  the  second  paragraph.  I'm 
only  to  be  allowed  ten  paragraphs  for  each  number,  and  I  am 
expected  to  have  an  incident  for  every  other  paragraph  for  the 
first  four  days." 

"  That's  twenty  incidents." 

"  Yes — it's  a  great  bother  finding  so  many.  I'm  obliged  to 
make  the  retainers  come  by  all  manner  of  accidents  ;  and  I 
should  never  have  finished  the  job  if  I  hadn't  thought  of  setting 
the  castle  on  fire.  '  And  now  forked  tongues  of  liquid  fire,  and 
greedy  lambent  flames  burst  forth  from  every  window  of  the 

devoted  edifice.     The  devouring  element .'     That's  the  best 

passage  in  the  whole  aff'air." 

"This  is  for  the  'Daily  Delight,'  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,  for  the  '  Daily  Delight.'  It  is  to  begin  on  the  1st  of 
September  with  the  partridges.  We  expect  a  most  tremendous 
sale.  It  will  be  the  first  halfpenny  publication  in  the  market, 
and  as  the  retailers  will  get  them  for  sixpence  a  score — twenty- 
four  to  the  score — they  '11  go  off"  like  wildfire." 

"  Well,  Charley,  and  what  do  you  do  with  the  dead  bodies 
of  your  two  heroes  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  needn't  tell  you  that  it  was  not  the  Baron  who 
killed  Sir  Anthony  at  all." 


AFTERNOON.  1 95 

"  Oil !  wasn't  it  ?  O  dear — that  was  a  dreadful  mistake  on 
the  part  of  the  retainers." 

"  But  as  natural  as  life.  You  see  these  two  grandees  were 
next-door  neighbors,  and  there  had  been  a  feud  between  the 
families  for  seven  centuries — a  sort  of  Capulet  and  Montague 
aflfair.  One  Adelgitha,  the  daughter  of  the  Thane  of  Allen-a- 
dale — there  were  Thanes  in  those  days,  you  know — was 
betrothed  to  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  Waldemar  de  Ballyporeen. 
This  gives  me  an  opportunity  of  bringing  in  a  succinct  little 
account  of  the  Conquest,  which  will  be  beneficial  to  the  lower 
classes.  The  editor  peremptorily  insists  upon  that  kind  of 
thing." 

"  Omne  tulit  2ninntum,'^  said  Norman. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Charley,  who  was  now  too  intent  on 
his  own  new  profession  to  attend  much  to  his  friend's  quotation. 
"  Well,  where  was  I  ? — Oh !  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  Waldemar 
went  off  with  another  lady,  and  so  the  fend  began.  There  is  a 
very  pretty  scene  between  Adelgitha  and  her  lady's-maid." 

"  What,  seven  centuries  before  the  story  begins  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  the  editor  says  that  the  unities  are  altogether 
thrown  over  now,  and  that  they  are  regular  bosh — oui^ame  is 
to  stick  in  a  good  bit  whenever  we  can  get  it — I  got  ro^  be  so 
fond  of  Adelgitha  that  I  rather  think  she 's  the  heroine." 

"But  doesn't  that  take  off  the  interest  from  your  dead 
grandees  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit ;  I  take  it  chapter  and  chapter  about.  W^ell,  you 
see,  the  retainers  had  no -sooner  made  mincemeat  of  the  Baron — 
a  very  elegant  young  man  was  the  Baron,  just  returned  from 
the  Continent,  where  he  had  learnt  to  throw  aside  all  prejudices 
about  family  feuds  and  everything  else,  and  he  had  just  come 
over  in  a  friendly  way,  to  say  as  much  to  Sir  Anthony,  when, 
as  he  crossed  the  drawbridge,  he  stumbled  over  the  corpse  of 
his  ancient  enemy — well,  the  retainers  had  no  sooner  made 
mincemeat  of  him,  than  they  perceived  that  Sir  Anthony  was 
lying  with  an  open  bottle  in  his  hand,  and  that  he  had  taken 
poison." 

"  Having  committed  suicide  ?"  asked  Norman. 

"  No,  not  at  all.  The  editor  says  that  we  must  always  have 
a  slap  at  some  of  the  iniquities  of  the  times.  He  gave  me  three 
or  four  to  choose  from  ;  there  was  the  adulteration  of  food,  and 
the  want  of  education  for  the  poor,  and  street  music,  and  the 
miscellaneous  sale  of  poisons." 

"  And  so  you  chose  poisons  and  killed  the  knight?" 


196?  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"Exactly;  at  least  I  didn't  kill  liim,  for  he  comes  all  right 
again  after  a  bit.  He  had  gone  out  to  get  something  to  do  him 
good  after  a  hard  night,  a  seidlitz-powder,  or  something  of  that 
sort,  and  an  apothecary's  apprentice  had  given  him  prussic  acid 
in  mistake." 

"  And  how  is  it  possible  he  should  have  come  to  life  after 
taking  prussic  acid  ?" 

"  Why,  there  I  have  a  double  rap  at  the  trade.  The  prussic 
acid  is  so  bad  of  its  kind,  that  it  only  puts  him  into  a  kind  of 
torpor  for  a  week.  Then  Ave  have  the  trial  of  the  apothecary's 
boy;  that  is  an  excellent  episode,  and  gives  me  a  grand  hit  at 
the  absurdity  of  our  criminal  code." 

"  Why,  Charley,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  hitting  at 
everything." 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  right  and  left,  that's  the  game  for  us  authors. 
The  press  is  the  only  censor  morum  going  now — and  who  so 
fit  ?  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  you  know.  Well,  I  have  my 
hit  at  the  criminal  code,  and  then  Sir  Anthony  comes  out  of  his 
torpor." 

"  But  how  did  it  come  to  pass  that  the  Baron's  sword  was  all 
bloody  ?" 

"Ah,* here  was  the  diflSculty;  I  saw  that  at  once.  It  was 
necessary  to  bring  in  something  to  be  killed,  you  know.  I 
thought  of  a  stray  tiger  out  of  Worabwell's  menagerie;  but 
the  editor  says  that  we  must  not  trespass  against  the  proba- 
bilities; so  I  have  introduced  a  big  dog.  The  Baron  had 
come  across  a  big  dog,  and  seeing  that  the  brute  had  a  wooden 
log  tied  to  his  throat,  thought  he  must  be  mad,  and  so  he 
killed  him." 

"And  what's  the  end  of  it,  Charley?" 

"  Why,  the  end  is  rather  melancholy.  Sir  Anthony  reforms, 
leaves  off  drinking,  and  takes  to  going  to  church  every  day. 
He  becomes  a  Puseyite,  puts  up  a  memorial  window  to  the 
Baron,  and  reads  the  Tracts.  At  last  he  goes  over  to  the  Pope, 
walks  about  in  Hasty  dirty  clothes  all  full  of  vermin,  and  gives 
over  his  estate  to  Cardinal  Wiseman.  Then  there  are  the 
retainers ;  they  all  come  to  grief,  some  one  way  and  some 
another.     I  do  that  for  the  sake  of  the  Nemesis." 

"  I  would  not  have  condescended  to  notice  them,  I  think," 
said  Norman. 

"  Oh !  I  must ;  there  must  be  a  Nemesis.  The  editor  spe- 
cially insists  on  a  Nemesis." 

The  conclusion  of  Charley's  novel  brought  them  back  to  the 


AFTERNOON.  197 

boat.  Norman  wlien  be  started  bad  intended  to  employ  tbe 
evening  in  giving  good  counsel  to  bis  friend,  and  in  endeavor- 
ing to  arrange  some  scbeme  by  wbicb  be  migbt  rescue  tlic 
brand  from  tbe  burning ;  but  be  bad  not  tbe  beart  to  be  severe 
and  sententious  wbile  Cbarley  was  full  of  bis  fun.  It  was  so 
mucb  pleasanter  to  talk  to  bim  on  tbe  easy  terms  of  equal 
friendsbip  tban  turn  Mentor  and  preacb  a  sermon. 

"  Well,  Cbartey,"  said  be,  as  tbey  were  walking  up  from  tbe 
boat  wbarf — Norman  to  bis  club,  and  Cbarley  towards  bis 
lodgings, — from  wbicb  route,  bowever,  be  meant  to  deviate  as 
soon  as  ever  be  migbt  be  left  alone  ; — "  well,  Cbarley,  I  wisb 
you  success  with  all  my  beart ;  I  wish  you  could  do  something, 
— I  won't  say  to  keep  you  out  of  mischief." 

"  I  wish  I  could,  Harry,"  said  Charley,  thoroughly  abashed ; 
"  I  wisb  I  could — indeed  I  wish  I  could — but  it  is  so  hard  to 
go  right  when  one  has  beo;un  to  go  wrong." 

"  It  is  bard  ;  I  know  it  is." 

"  But  you  never  can  know  how  bard,  Harry,  for  you  have 
never  tried,"  and  then  tbey  went  on  walking  for  a  while  in 
silence,  side  by  side. 

"  You  don't  know  the  sort  of  place  that  office  of  mine  is," 
continued  Charley.  "  You  don't  know  the  sort  of  fellows  tbe 
men  are.  I  hate  tbe  place ;  I  bate  the  men  I  live  with.  It  is 
all  so  dirty,  so  disreputable,  so  false.  I  cannot  conceive  that 
any  fellow  put  in  there  as  young  as  I  was  should  ever  do  well 
afterwards." 

"  But  at  any  rate  you  might  try  your  best,  Charley." 

"  Yes,  I  migbt  do  that  still ;  and  I  know  I  don't ;  and  where 
should  I  have  been  now,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  ?" 

"  Never  mind  about  that ;  I  sometimes  think  we  might  have 
done  more  for  each  other  if  we  bad  been  more  together.  But 
remember  the  motto  you  said  you'd  choose,  Cbarley — Excelsior! 
We  can  none  of  us  mount  tbe  hill  without  hard  labor.  Remem- 
ber that  word,  Charley — -Excelsior !  Remember  it  now — now, 
to-night ;  remember  how  you  dream  of  higher  things,  and  begin 
to  think  of  them  in  your  waking  moments  also ;"  and  so  tbey 
parted. 


198  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   DAY   WITH    ONE    OF    THE    NAVVIES. EVENING. 

"  Excelsior  !"  said  Charley  to  himself,  as  he  walked  on  a 
few  steps  towards  his  lodgings,  having  left  Norman  at  the  door 
of  his  club.     "  Remember  it  now — now, •to-night." 

Yes — now  is  the  time  to  remember  it,  if  it  is  ever  to  be 
remembered  to  any  advantage.  He  went  on  with  stoic  resolu- 
tion to  the  end  of  the  street,  determined  to  press  home  and  put 
the  last  touch  to  "  Crinoline  and  Macassar ;"  but  as  he  went  he 
thought  of  his  interview  with  Mr.  M'Ruen  and  of  the  five  sove- 
reigns still  in  his  pocket,  and  altered  his  course. 

Charly  had  not  been  so  resolute  with  the  usurer,  so  deter- 
mined to  get  51.  from  him  on  this  special  day,  without  a  special 
object  in  view.  His  credit  was  at  stake  in  a  more  than  ordinary 
manner ;  he  had  about  a  week  since  borrowed  money  from  the 
woman  who  kept  the  public-house  in  Norfolk  Street,  and  having 
borrowed  it  for  a  week  only,  felt  that  this  was  a  debt  of  honor 
which  it  was  incumbent  on  him  to  pay.  Therefore,  when  he 
had  walked  the  length  of  one  street  on  his  road  towards  his 
lodgings,  he  retraced  his  steps  and  made  his  way  back  to  his 
old  haunts. 

The  house  which  he  frequented  was  hardly  more  like  a 
modern  London  gin  palace  than  was  that  other  house  in  the 
city  which  Mr.  M'Ruen  honored  with  his  custom.  It  was  one 
of  those  small  tranquil  shrines  of  Bacchus  in  which  the  god  is 
worshipped  with  as  constant  a  devotion,  though  with  less  noisy 
demonstrations  of  zeal  than  in  his  larger  and  more  public  tem- 
ples. None  absolutely  of  the  lower  orders  were  encouraged  to 
come  thither  for  oblivion.  It  had  about  it  nothing  inviting  to 
the  general  eye.  No  gas  illuminations  proclaimed  its  midnight 
grandeur.  No  huge  folding  doors,  one  set  here  and  another 
there,  gave  ingress  to  a  wretched  crowd  of  poverty-stricken 
midnight  revellers.  No  reiterated  assertions  in  gaudy  letters, 
each  a  foot  long,  as  to  the  peculiar  merits  of  the  old  tom  or 
Hodge's  cream  of  the  valley,  seduced  the  thirsty  traveller. 
The  panelling  over  the  window  bore  the  simple  announcement, 
in  modest  letters,  of  the  name  of  the  landlady,  Mrs.  Davis ;  and 
the  same  name  appeared  with  equal  modesty  on  the  one  gas 
lamp  opposite  the  door. 


EVENING.  199 

Mrs.  Davis  was  a  widow,  and  her  customers  were  chiefly  peo- 
ple who  knew  her  and  frequented  her  house  regularly.  Law- 
yers' clerks,  who  were  either  unmarried,  or  whose  married  homes 
were  perhaps  not  so  comfortable  as  the  widow's  front  parlor ; 
tradesmen,  not  of  the  best  sort,  glad  to  get  away  from  the  noise 
of  their  children ;  young  men,  who  had  begun  the  cares  of  life 
in  ambiguous  positions,  just  on  the  confines  of  respectability,  and 
who  finding  themselves  too  weak  in  flesh  to  cling  on  to  the 
round  of  the  ladder  above  them,  were  sinking  from  year  to  year 
to  lower  steps,  and  depths  even  below  the  level  of  Mrs.  Davis's 
public-house.  To  these  might  be  added  some  few  of  a  somewhat 
higher  rank  in  life,  though  perhaps  of  a  lower  rank  of  respecta- 
bility ;  young  men  who,  like  Charley  Tudor  and  his  comrades, 
liked  their  ease  and  self-indulgence,  and  were  too  indifferent  as 
to  the  class  of  companions  against  whom  they  might  rub  their 
shoulders  while  seeking  it. 

The  "  Cat  and  Whistle,"  for  such  was  the  name  of  Mrs.  Da- 
vis's establishment,  had  been  a  house  of  call  for  the  young  men 
of  the  Internal  Navigation  long  before  Charley's  time.  What 
first  gave  rise  to  the  connection  it  is  not  now  easy  to  say  ;  but 
Charley  had  found  it,  and  had  fostered  it  into  a  close  alliance, 
which  greatly  exceeded  any  amount  of  intimacy  which  existed 
previously  to  his  day. 

It  must  not  be  presumed  that  he,  in  an  ordinary  way,  took 
his  place  among  the  lawyers'  clerks,  and  general  run  of  custom- 
ers in  the  front  parlor ;  occasionally  he  condescended  to  pre- 
side there  over  the  quiet  revels,  to  sing  a  song  for  the  guests, 
which  was  sure  to  be  applauded  to  the  echo,  and  to  engage  in  a 
little  skirmish  of  politics  with  a  retired  lamp-maker  and  a  silver- 
smith's foreman  from  the  Strand,  who  always  called  him  "  Sir," 
and  received  what  he  said  with  the  greatest  respect ;  but,  as  a 
rule,  he  quaffed  his  Falernian  in  a  little  secluded  parlor  behind 
the  bar,  in  which  sat  the  widow  Davis,  auditing  her  accounts  in 
the  morning,  and  giving  out  orders  in  the  evening  to  Norah 
Geraghty,  her  bar-maid,  and  to  an  attendant  sylph,  who  minis- 
tered to  the  front  parlor,  taking  in  goes  of  gin  and  screws  of 
tobacco,  and  bringing  out  the  price  thereof  with  praiseworthy 
punctuality. 

Latterly,  indeed,  Charley  had  utterly  deserted  the  front  par- 
lor ;  for  there  had  come  there  a  pestilent  fellow,  highly  con- 
nected with  the  press,  as  the  lamp-maker  declared,  but  employed 
as  an  assistant  short-hand  writer  somewhere  about  the  Houses 
of  Parliament,  according  to  the  silversmith,  who  greatly  inter- 


20(j^Q  '^  ^TRE   THREE   CLEKKS. 


feifed  wil 


with  our  navvy's  authority.  He  would  not  at  all  allow 
that  what  Charley  said  was  law,  entertained  fearfully  democratic 
principles  of  his  own,  and  was  not  at  all  the  gentleman.  So 
Charley  drew  himself  up,  declined  to  converse  any  further  on 
politics  with  a  man  who  seemed  to  know  more  about  them  than 
himself,  and  confined  himself  exclusively  to  the  inner  room. 

On  arriving  at  this  elysium,  on  the  night  in  question,  he 
found  Mrs.  Davis  usefully  engaged  in  darning  a  stocking,  while 
Scatterall  sat  opposite  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  his  hat  over 
his  nose,  and  a  glass  of  gin  and  water  before  him. 

"  I  began  to  thing  you  weren't  coming,"  said  Scatterall,  "  and 
I  was  getting  so  deuced  dull  that  I  was  positively  thinking  of 
going  home." 

"  That's  very  civil  of  you,  Mr.  Scatterall,"  said  the  widow. 

"  Well,  you've  been  sitting  there  for  the  last  half  hour  with- 
out saying  a  word  to  me  ;  and  it  is  dull.  Looking  at  a  woman 
mending  stockings  is  dull,  ain't  it,  Charley  ?" 

"  That  depends,"  said  Charley,  "  partly  on  whom  the  woman 
may  be,  and  partly  on  whom  the  man  may  be.  Where's  Norah, 
Mrs.  Davis  ?" 

"  She's  not  very  well  to-night;  she  has  got  a  headache  :  there 
ain't  many  of  them  here  to-night,  so  she's  lying  down." 

"A  little  seedy,  I  suppose,"  said  Scatterall. 

Charley  felt  rather  angry  with  his  friend  for  applying  such 
an  epithet  to  his  lady  love  ;  however,  he  did  not  resent  it,  but 
sitting  down,  lighted  his  pipe  and  sipped  his  gin  and  water. 

And  so  they  sat  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour,  saying  very 
little  to  each  other.  What  was  the  nature  of  the  attraction 
which  induced  two  such  men  as  Charley  Tudor  and  Dick  Scat- 
terall to  give  Mrs.  Davis  the  benefit  of  their  society,  w^hile  she 
was  mending  her  stockings,  it  might  be  difiicult  to  explain. 
They  could  have  smoked  in  their  own  rooms  as  well,  and  have 
drunk  gin  and  w^ater  there,  if  they  had  any  real  predilection 
for  that  mixture.  Mrs.  Davis  was  neither  young  nor  beautiful, 
nor  more  than  ordinarily  witty.  Charley,  it  is  true,  had  an 
allurement  to  entice  him  thither,  but  this  could  not  be  said  of 
Scatterall,  to  whom  the  lovely  Norah  was  never  more  than 
decently  civil.  Had  they  been  desired,  in  their  own  paternal 
halls,  to  sit  and  see  their  mother's  housekeeper  darn  the  family 
stockings,  they  would,  probably,  both  of  them  have  rebelled, 
even  though  the  supply  of  tobacco  and  gin  and  water  should 
be  gratuitous  and  unlimited. 

It  must  be  presumed  that  the  only  charm  of  the  pursuit  was 


EVENING.  201 

in  its  acknowledged  impropriety.  They  botli  nnderstox^d  that 
there  was  something  fast  in  frequenting  Mrs.  Davis's  inner  par- 
lor, something  slow  in  remaining  at  home ;  and  so  they  both 
sat  there,  and  Mrs.  Davis  went  on  with  her  darning  needle, 
nothing  abashed. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  shall  go,"  said  Scatterall,  shaking  off  the 
last  ash  from  the  end  of  his  third  cigar. 

"Do,"  said  Charley;  "you  should  be  careful,  you  know;  late 
hours  will  hurt  your  complexion." 

**  It's  so  deuced  dull,"  said  Scatterall. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  into  the  parlor,  and  have  a  chat  witJi 
the  gentlemen  ?"  suggested  Mrs.  Davis  ;  "  there's  Mr.  Pepper- 
mint there  now,  lecturing  about  the  war ;  upon  my  word  he 
talks  very  well." 

"  He's  so  deuced  low,"  said  Scatterall. 

"  He's  a  bumptious  noisy  blackguard  too,"  said  Charley  ;  "  he 
doesn't  know  how  to  speak  to  a  gentleman,  when  he  meets  one.' 

Scatterall  gave  a  great  yawn.  "  I  suppose  you're  not  going, 
Charley  ?"  said  he. 

"O  yes,  I  am,"  said  Charley,  "in  about  two  hours." 

"  Two  hours  !  well,  good  night,  old  fellow^,  for  I'm  off.  Three 
cigars,  Mrs.  Davis,  and  two  goes  of  gin  and  water,  the  last 
cold."  Then,  having  made  this  little  commercial  communica- 
tion to  the  landlady,  he  gave  another  yawn,  and  took  himself 
away.  Mrs.  Davis  opened  her  little  book,  jotted  down  the 
items,  and  then,  having  folded  up  her  stockings,  and  put  them 
into  a  basket,  prepared  herself  for  conversation. 

But,  though  Mrs.  Davis  prepared  herself  for  conversation, 
she  did  not  immediately  commence  it.  Having  something 
special  to  say,  she  probably  thought  that  she  might  improve 
her  opportunity  of  saying  it  by  allowing  Charley  to  begin. 
She  got  up  and  pottered  about  the  room,  went  to  a  cupboard, 
and  wiped  a  couple  of  glasses,  and  then  out  into  the  bar  and 
arranged  the  jugs  and  pots.  This  done,  she  returned  to  the 
little  room,  and  again  sat  herself  down  in  her  chair. 

"  Here's  your  five  pounds,  Mrs.  Davis,"  said  Charley  ;  "  I  wish 
you  knew  the  trouble  I  have  had  to  get  it  for  you." 

To  give  Mrs.  Davis  her  due,  this  was  not  the  subject  on  which 
she  w^as  anxious  to  speak.  She  would  have  been  at  present 
well  inclined  that  Charley  should  remain  her  debtor.  "  Indeed, 
Mr.  Tudor,  I  am  very  sorry  you  should  have  taken  any  trouble 
on  such  a  trifle.  If  you're  short  of  money,  it  will  do  for  me 
just  as  well  in  October." 

9^ 


202  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

Charley  looked  at  the  sovereigns,  and  bethought  himself  how 
very  short  of  cash  he  was.  Then  he  thought  of  the  fight  he 
had  had  to  get  them,  in  order  that  he  might  pay  the  money 
which  he  had  felt  so  ashamed  of  having  borrowed,  and  he  de- 
termined to  resist  the  temptation. 

"Did  you  ever  know  me  flush  of  cash?  You  had  better 
take  them  while  you  can  get  them,"  and  as  he  pushed  them 
across  the  table  with  his  stick,  he  remembered  that  all  he  had 
left  was  ninepence. 

"I  don't  want  the  money  at  present,  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  the 
widow.  "  We're  such  old  friends  that  there  ought  not  to  be  a 
word  between  us  about  such  a  trifle — now  don't  leave  yourself 
bare ; — take  what  you  want  and  settle  with  me  at  quarter-day." 

"Well,  I'll  take  a  sovereign,"  said  he,  "for  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  have  only  the  ghost  of  a  shilling  in  my  pocket."  And 
so  it  was  settled ;  Mrs.  Davis  reluctantly  pocketed  four  of  Mr. 
M'Ruen's  sovereigns,  and  Charley  kept  in  his  own  possession 
the  fifth,  as  to  which  he  had  had  so  hard  a  combat  in  the  lobby 
of  the  bank. 

He  then  sat  silent  for  a  while  and  smoked,  and  Mrs.  Davis 
again  waited  for  him  to  begin  the  subject  on  which  she  wished 
to  speak.  "  And  what's  the  matter  with  Norah  all  this  time  ?" 
he  said  at  last. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her  ?"  repeated  Mrs.  Davis.  "  Well, 
I  think  you  might  know  what's  the  matter  with  her.  You  don't 
suppose  she's  made  of  stone,  do  you  ?" 

Charley  saw  that  he  was  in  for  it.  It  was  in  vain  that  Nor- 
man's last  word  was  still  ringing  in  his  ears.  Excelsior! 
What  had  he  to  do  with  Excelsior  ?  What  miserable  reptile  on 
God's  earth  was  more  prone  to  crawl  downwards  than  he  had 
shown  himself  to  be  ?  And  then  again  a  vision  floated  across 
his  mind's  eye  of  a  young  sweet  angel  face  with  large  bright 
eyes,  with  soft  delicate  skin,  and  all  the  exquisite  charms  of 
gentle  birth  and  gentle  nurture.  A  single  soft  touch  seemed  to 
press  his  arm,  a  touch  that  he  had  so  often  felt,  and  had  never 
felt  without  acknowledging  to  himself  that  there  was  something 
in  it  almost  divine.  All  this  passed  rapidly  through  his  mind, 
as  he  was  preparing  to  answer  Mrs.  Davis's  question  touching 
Norah  Geraghty. 

"You  don't  think  she's  made  of  " stone,  do  you ?"  said  the 
widow,  repeating  her  words. 

"  Indeed  I  don't  think  she's  made  of  anything  but  what's 
suitable  to  a  very  nice  young  woman,"  said  Charley. 


EVENING.  203 

"  A  nice  young  woman  !  Is  tliat  all  you  can  say  for  her  ?  I 
call  lier  a  very  fine  girl."  Miss  Golightly's  friends  could  not  say 
anything  more,  even  for  that  young  lady.  "1  don't  know 
where  you'll  pick  up  a  handsomer,  or  a  better-conducted  one 
either,  for  the  matter  of  that." 

"  Indeed  she  is,"  said  Charley. 

"  Oh  !  for  the  matter  of  that,  no  one  knows  it  better  than 
yourself,  Mr.  Tudor ;  and  she's  as  well  able  to  keep  a  man's 
house  over  his  head  as  some  others  that  take  a  deal  of  pride  in 
themselves." 

"  I'm  quite  sure  of  it,"  said  Charley. 

"  Well,  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  this,  Mr.  Tudor."  And 
as  she  spoke  the  widow  got  a  little  red  in  the  face  ;  she  had,  as 
Charley  thought,  an  unpleasant  look  of  resolution  about  her — 
a  roundness  about  her  mouth,  and  a  sort  of  fierceness  in  her 
eyes.  "  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  this,  Mr.  Tudor  ;  what 
do  you  mean  to  do  about  the  girl  ?" 

"Do  about  her?"  said  Charley,  almost  bewildered  in  his 
misery. 

*'  Yes,  do  about  her.  Do  you  mean  to  make  her  your  wife  ? 
That's  plain  English.  Because  I'll  tell  you  what ;  I'll  not  see 
her  put  upon  any  longer.  It  must  be  one  thing  or  the  other ; 
and  that  at  once.  And  if  you've  a  grain  of  honor  in  you,  Mr. 
Tudor, — and  I  think  you  are  honorable, — you  won't  back  from 
your  word  with  the  girl  now." 

"  Back  from  my  word  ?"  said  Charley 

"Yes,  back  from  your  word,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  the  floodgates 
of  whose  eloquence  were  now  fairly  opened.  "  I'm  sure  you're 
too  much  of  the  gentleman  to  deny  your  own  words,  and  them 

repeated  more  than  once  in  my  presence Cheroots — yes,  are 

there  none  there,  child  ? — Oh,  they  are  in  the  cupboard."  These 
last  words  were  not  part  of  her  address  to  Charley,  but  were 
given  in  reply  to  a  requisition  from  the  attendant  nymph  out- 
side. "  You're  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  do  that,  I  know. 
And  so,  as  I'm  her  natural  friend — and  indeed  she's  my  cousin, 
not  that  far  ofl" — I  think  it's  right  that  we  should  all  understand 
one  another." 

"  Oh,  quite  right,"  said  Charley. 

"You  can't  expect  that  she  should  go  and  sacrifice  herself  for 
you,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  who  now  that  she  had  begun 
hardly  knew  how  to  stop  herself.  "  A  girl's  time  is  her  money. 
She's  at  her  best  now,  and  a  girl  like  her  must  make  her  hay 
while  the  sun  shines.     She  can't  go  on  fal-lalling  with  you,  and 


204  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

tlieii  nothing  to  come  of  it.  You  mustn't  suppose  she's  to  lose 
her  market  that  way." 

"  God  knows  I  should  be  sorry  to  injure  her,  Mrs.  Davis." 

"  I  believe  you  would,  because  I  take  you  for  an  honorable 
gentleman  as  will  be  as  good  as  your  Avord.  Now,  there's 
Peppermint  there." 

"  What !  that  fellow  in  the  parlor  ?"    ■ 

"  And  an  honorable  gentleman  he  is.  Not  that  I  mean  to 
compare  him  to  you,  Mr.  Tudor,  nor  yet  doesn't  Norah  ;  not  by 
no  means.  But  there  he  is.  Well,  he  comes  with  the  most 
honorablest  proposals,  and  will  make  her  Mrs.  Peppermint  to- 
morrow, if  so  be  that  she'll  have  it." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  there  has  been  anything  between 
them  ?"  said  Charley,  who  in  spite  of  the  intense  desire  which 
he  had  felt  a  few  minutes  since  to  get  the  lovely  Norah  altogether 
off  his  hands,  now  felt  an  acute  pang  of  jealousy.  "You  don't 
mean  to  say  that  there  has  been  anything  between  them  ?" 

*'  Nothing  as  you  have  any  right  to  object  to,  Mr.  Tudor. 
You  may  be  sure  I  wouldn't  allow  of  that,  nor  yet  wouldn't 
Norah  demean  herself  to  it." 

"  Then  how  did  she  get  talking  to  him  ?" 

"  She  didn't  get  talking  to  him.  But  he  has  eyes  in  his  head, 
and  you  don't  suppose  but  what  he  can  see  with  them.  If  a 
girl  is  in  the  public  line,  of  course  any  man  is  free  to  speak  to 
her.  If  you  don't  like  it,  it  is  for  you  to  take  her  out  of  it. 
Not  but  what,  for  a  girl  that  is  in  the  public  line,  Norah 
Geraghty  keeps  herself  to  herself  as  much  as  any  girl  you  ever 
set  eyes  on." 

"  What  the  d—  has  she  to  do  with  this  fellow  then  ?" 

"  Why,  he's  a  widower,  and  has  three  young  children  ;  and 
he's  looking  out  for  a  mother  for  them  ;  and  he  thinks  Norah 
will  suit.     There,  now  you  have  the  truth,  and  the  whole  truth." 

"  D — his  impudence  !"  said  Charley. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  that  there's  any  impudence.  He  has  a 
house  of  his  own  and  the  means  to  keep  it.  Now  I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is.     Norah  can't  abide  him " 

Charley  looked  a  little  better  satisfied  when  he  heard  this 
declaration. 

"  Norah  can't  abide  the  sight  of  him  ;  nor  won't  of  any  man 
as  long  as  you  are  hanging  after  her.  She's  as  true  as  steel,  and 
proud  you  ought  to  be  of  her."  Proud,  thought  Charley,  as  he 
again  muttered  to  himself,  "  Excelsior  !"  "  But,  Mr.  Tudor,  I 
won't  see  her  put  upon  ;  that's  the  long  and  the  short  of  it. 


EVENING.  205 

If  yon  like  to  take  her,  there  she  is.  I  don't  say  she's  just  your 
equal  as  to  breeding,  though  she's  come  of  decent  people  too ; 
but  she's  good  as  gold.  She'll  make  a  shilling  go  as  far  as  any 
young  woman  I  know;  and  if  lOOZ.  or  150^.  are  wanting  for 
furniture  or  the  like  of  that,  why,  I've  that  regard  for  her,  that 
that  shan't  stand  in  the  way.  Now,  Mr.  Tudor,  I've  spoke 
honest ;  and  if  you're  the  gentleman  as  I  takes  you  to  be,  you'll 
do  the  same." 

To  do  Mrs.  Davis  justice,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  in  her 
way  she  had  spoken  honestly.  Of  course  she  knew  that  such  a 
marriage  would  be  a  dreadful  misalliance  for  young  Tudor ;  of 
course  she  knew  that  all  his  friends  would  be  heart-broken  when 
they  heard  of  it.  But  what  had  she  to  do  with  his  friends  ? 
Her  sympathies,  her  good  wishes,  were  for  her  friend.  Had 
Norah  fallen  a  victim  to  Charley's  admiration,  and  then  been 
cast  off,  to  eat  the  bitterest  bread  to  which  any  human  being  is 
ever  doomed,  what  then  would  Charley's  friends  have  cared  for 
her  ?  There  was  a  fair  fight  between  them.  If  Norah  Geraghty, 
as  a  reward  for  her  prudence,  could  get  a  husband  in  a  rank  of 
life  above  her,  instead  of  falling  into  utter  destruction,  as  might 
so  easily  have  been  the  case,  who  could  do  other  than  praise 
her — praise  her  and  her  clever  friend  who  had  so  assisted  her 
in  her  struggle  ? 

Dolus  an  virtus — 

Had  Mrs.  Davis  ever  studied  the  classics  she  would  have  thus 
expressed  herself. 

Poor  Charley  was  altogether  thrown  on  his  beam-ends.  He 
had  altogether  played  Mrs.  Davis's  game  in  evincing  jealousy  at 
Mr.  Peppermint's  attentions.  He  knew  this,  and  yet  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  help  being  jealous.  He  wanted  to  get 
rid  of  Miss  Geraghty,  and  yet  he  could  not  endure  that  any  one 
else  should  lay  claim  to  her  favor.  He  was  very  weak.  He 
knew  how  much  depended  on  the  way  in  which  he  might 
answer  this  woman  at  the  present  moment ;  he  knew  that  he 
ought  now  to  make  it  plain  to  her,  that  however  foolish  he 
might  have  been,  however  false  he  might  have  been,  it  was 
quite  out  of  the  question  that  he  should  marry  her  barmaid. 
But  he  did  not  do  so.  He  was  worse  than  weak.  It  was  not 
only  the  disinclination  to  give  pain,  or  even  the  dread  of  the 
storm  that  would  ensue,  which  deterred  him  ;  but  an  absurd 
dislike  to  think  that  Mr.  Peppermint  should  be  graciously 
received  there  as  the  barmaid's  acknowledged  admirer. 


206  THE  THREE    CLEEKS. 

"  Is  she  really  ill  now  ?"  said  he. 

"She's  not  so  ill  but  what  she  shall  mate  herself  well  enough 
to  welcome  you,  if  you'll  say  the  word  that  you  ought  to  say. 
The  most  that  ails  her  is  fretting  at  the  long  delay. — Bolt  the 
door,  child,  and  go  to  bed  ;  there  will  be  no  one  else  here  now. 
Go  up,  and  tell  Miss  Geraghty  to  come  down ;  she  hasn't  got 
her  clothes  off  yet,  I  know." 

Mrs.  Davis  was  too  good  a  general  to  press  Charley  for  an 
absolute,  immediate,  fixed  answer  to  her  question.  She  knew 
that  she  had  already  gained  much,  by  talking  thus  of  the  pro- 
posed marriage,  by  setting  it  thus  plainly  before  Charley,  without 
rebuke  or  denial  from  him.  He. had  not  objected  to  receiving 
a  visit  from  Norah,  on  the  implied  understanding  that  she  was 
to  come  down  to  him  as  his  affianced  bride.  He  had  not  agreed 
to  this  in  words ;  but  silence  gives  consent,  and  Mrs.  Davis  felt 
that  should  it  ever  hereafter  become  necessary  to  prove 
anything,  what  had  passed  would  enable  her  to  prove  a  good 
deal. 

Charley  puffed  at  his  cigar  and  sipped  his  gin  and  water. 
It  was  now  twelve  o'clock,  and  he  thoroughly  wished  himself  at 
home  and  in  bed.  The  longer  he  thought  of  it  the  more 
impossible  it  appeared  that  he  should  get  out  of  the  house  with- 
out the  scene  which  he  dreaded.  The  girl  had  bolted  the  door, 
put  away  her  cups  and  mugs,  and  her  step  up  stairs  had  struck 
heavily  on  his  ears.  The  house  was  not  large  or  high,  and  he 
fancied  that  he  heard  mutterings  on  the  landing-place.  Indeed 
he  did  not  doubt  but  that  Miss  Geraghty  had  listened  to  most 
of  the  conversation  which  had  taken  place. 

"  Excuse  me  a  minute,  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  who  was 
now  smiling  and  civil  enough;  "I  will  go  up  stairs  myself;  the 
silly  girl  is  shamefaced,  and  does  not  like  to  come  down  ;"  and 
up  went  Mrs.  Davis  to  see  that  her  barmaid's  curls  and  dress 
were  nice  and  jaunty.  It  would  not  do  now,  at  this  moment, 
for  Norah  to  offend  her  lover  by  any  untidiness.  Charley  for 
a  moment  thought  of  the  front  door.  The  enemy  had  allowed 
him  an  opportunity  for  retreating.  He  might  slip  out  before 
either  of  the  women  came  down,  and  then  never  more  be  heard 
of  in  Norfolk  Street  again.  He  had  his  hand  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  with  the  intent  of  leaving  the  sovereign  on  the  table ; 
but  when  the  moment  came  he  felt  ashamed  of  the  pusillanimity 
of  such  an  escape,  and  therefore  stood,  or  rather  sat  his  ground, 
with  the  courage  worthy  of  a  better  purpose. 

Down  the  two  women  came,  and  Charley  felt  his  heart  beat- 


EVENING.  207 

ing  against  his  ribs.  As  the  steps  came  nearer  the  door,  he 
began  to  wish  that  Mr.  Peppermint  had  been  successful.  The 
widow  entered  the  room  first,  and  at  her  heels  the  expectant 
beauty.  We  can  hardly  say  that  she  was  blushing ;  but  she 
did  look  rather  shamefaced,  and  hung  back  a  little  at  the  door, 
as  though  she  still  had  half  a  mind  to  think  better  of  it,  and  go 
off  to  her  bed. 

"  Come  in,  you  little  fool,"  said  Mrs.  Davis.  "  You  needn't 
be  ashamed  of  coming  down  to  see  him ;  you  have  done  that 
often  enough  before  now." 

Norah  simpered  and  sidled.  "Well,  I'm  sure  now!"  said 
she.  "  Here's  a  start,  Mr.  Tudor ;  to  be  brought  down  stairs  at 
this  time  of  night;  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  it's  about ;" 
and  then  she  shook  her  curls,  and  twitched  her  dress,  and  made 
as  though  she  were  going  to  pass  through  the  room  to  her 
accustomed  place  at  the  bar. 

Norah  Geraghty  was  a  fine  girl.  Putting  her  in  comparison 
with  Miss  Golightly,  we  are  inclined  to  say  that  she  was  the 
finer  girl  of  the  two  ;  and  that,  barring  position,  money,  and 
fashion,  she  was  qualified  to  make  the  better  wife.  In  point  of 
education,  that  is,  the  effects  of  education,  there  was  not  perhaps 
much  to  chose  between  them.  Norah  could  make  an  excellent 
pudding,  and  was  willing  enough  to  exercise  her  industry  and 
art  in  doing  so  ;  Miss  Golightly  could  copy  music,  but  she  did 
not  like  the  trouble ;  and  could  play  a  waltz  badly.  Neither 
of  them  had  ever  read  anything  beyond  a  few  novels.  In  this 
respect,  as  to  the  amount  of  labor  done,  Miss  Golightly  had 
certainly  far  surpassed  her  rival  competitor  for  Charley's 
affections. 

Charley  got  up  and  took  her  hand  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  he  saw 
that  her  naife.«igre_dirty.  He  put  his  arms  round  her  waist  and 
kissed  her ;  and  as  he  caressed  her,  his  olfactory  nerves  per- 
ceived that  the  pomatum  in  her  hair  was  none  of  the  best.  He 
thought  of  those  young  lustrous  eyes  that  would  look  up  so 
wondrously  into  his  face;  he  thought  of  the  gentle  touch,  Avhich 
would  send  a  thrill  through  all  his  nerves ;  and  then  he  felt  very 
sick. 

"Well,  upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Tudor,"  said  Miss  Geraghty, 
"  you're  making  very  free  to-night."  She  did  not,  however,  re- 
fuse to  sit  down  on  his  knee,  though  while  sitting  there  she 
struggled  and  tossed  herself,  and  shook  her  long  ringlets  in 
Charley's  face,  till  he  wished  her — safe  at  home  in  Mr.  Pepper- 
mint's nursery. 


208  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

"  And  is  that  wnat  you  brought  me  down  for,  Mrs.  Davis  ?" 
said  Norah.  "  Well,  upon  my  word,  I  hope  the  door's  locked  ; 
we  shall  have  all  the  world  in  here  else." 

"  If  you  hadn't  come  down  to  him,  he'd  have  come  up  to  you," 
said  Mrs.  Davis. 

"  Would  he  though  ?"  said  Norah  ;  "  I  think  he  knows  a  trick 
worth  two  of  that ;"  and  she  looked  as  though  she  knew  well 
how  to  defend  herself,  if  any  over-zeal  on  the  part  of  her  lover 
should  ever  induce  him  to  violate  the  sanctum  of  her  feminine 
reth-ement. 

There  was  no  over-zeal  now  about  Charley.  He  ought  to 
have  been  happy  enough,  for  he  had  his  charmer  in  his  arms ; 
but  he  showed  very  little  of  the  ecstatic  joy  of  a  favored  lover. 
There  he  sat  with  Norah  in  his  arms,  and  as  we  have  said,  Norah 
was  a  handsome  girl ;  but  he  would  much  sooner  have  been 
copying  the  Kennett  and  Avon  canal  lock  entries  in  Mr.  Snape's 
room  at  the  Internal  Navigation. 

"  Lawks,  Mr.  Tudor,  you  needn't  hold  me  so  tight,"  said 
Norah. 

"  He  means  to  hold  you  tight  enough,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Davis. 
"He's  very  angry  because  I  mentioned  another  gentleman's 
name." 

"  Well,  now  you  didn't  ?"  said  Norah,  pretending  to  look  very 
angry. 

"  Well,  I  just  did ;  and  if  you'd  only  seen  him  !  You  must 
be  very  careful  what  you  say  to  that  gentleman,  or  there'll  be  a 
row  in  the  house." 

"  I !"  said  Norah.  "  What  I  say  to  him  !  It's  very  little  I 
have  to  say  to  the  man.  But  I  shall  tell  him  this  :  he'd  better 
take  himself  somewhere  else,  if  he's  going  to  make  himself 
troublesome." 

All  this  time  Charley  had  said  nothing,  but  was  sitting  with 
his  hat  on  his  head,  and  his  cigar  in  his  mouth.  The  latter  ap- 
pendage he  had  laid  down  for  a  moment  when  he  saluted  Miss 
Geraghty  ;  but  he  had  resumed  it,  having  at  the  moment  no  in- 
tention of  repeating  the  compliment. 

"  And  so  you  were  jealous,  were  you  ?"  said  she,  turning 
round  and  looking  at  him.  "  Well,  now,  some  people  might 
have  more  respect  for  other  people,  than  to  mix  up  their  names 
that  way,  with  the  names  of  any  men  that  choose  to  put  them- 
selves forward.  What  would  you  say,  if  I  was  to  talk  to  you 
about  Miss " 

Charley  stopped  her  month.     It  was  not  to  be  borne  that  she 


EYEXINO.  209 

should  be  allowed  to  pronounce  the  name  that  was  about  to  Ml 
from  her  lips. 

"  So,  you  were  jealous,  were  you !"  said  she,  when  she  was 
again  able  to  speak.     "  Well,  my !" 

"  Mrs,  Davis  told  me  flatly  that  you  were  going  to  marry  the 
man,"  said  Charley  ;  "  so  what  was  I  to  think  ?" 

"  It  doesn't  matter  what  you  think  now,"  said  Mrs.  Davis  ; 
"  for  you  must  be  off  from  this.  Do  you  know  what  o'clock  it  is  ? 
Do  you  want  the  house  to  get  a  bad  name  ?  Come,  you  two 
understand  each  other  now,  so  you  may  as  well  give  over  billing 
and  cooing  for  this  time.  It's  all  settled  now,  isn't  it,  Mr. 
Tudor  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Charley. 

"  Well  and  what  do  you  say,  Norah  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sure  I  'm  agreeable  if  he  is.  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  I 
only  hope  he  won't  think  me  too  forward — he  !  he !  he  !" 

And  then  with  another  kiss,  and  very  few  more  words  of  any 
sort,  Charley  took  himself  off. 

"  I  '11  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him,"  said  Norah, 
bursting  into  tears,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  well  bolted  after 
Charley's  exit.  "  I  'm  only  losing  myself  with  him.  He  don't 
mean  anything,  and  I  said  he  didn't  all  along.  He'd  have 
pitched  me  to  Old  Scratch,  while  I  was  sitting  there  on  his 
knee,  if  he  'd  have  had  his  own  way — so  he  would  ;"  and  poor 
Norah  cried  heartily,  as  she  went  to  her  work  in  her  usual  way 
among  the  bottles  and  taps. 

"  Why,  you  fool  you,  what  do  you  expect  ?  You  don't  think 
he's  to  jump  down  your  throat,  do  you  ?  You  can  but  try  it 
on  ;  and  then  if  it  don't  do,  why  there's  the  other  one  to  fall 
back  on  ;  only,  if  I  had  the  choice,  I'd  rather  have  young 
Tudor,  too." 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Norah  ;  "  I  can't  abide  that  other  fellow." 

"  Well,  there,  that's  how  it  is,  you  know — beggars  can't  be 
choosers.  But  come,  make  us  a  drop  of  something  hot ;  a 
little  drop  will  do  yourself  good ;  but  it's  better  not  to  take  it 
before  him,  unless  when  he  presses  you." 

So  the  two  ladies  sat  down  to  console  themselves,  as  best 
they  might,  for  the  reverses  which  trade  and  love  so  often  bring 
with  them. 

Charley  walked  off  a  miserable  man.  He  was  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  himself,  thoroughly  acknowledged  his  own  weak- 
ness ;  and  yet  as  he  went  out  from  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle  "  he 
felt   sure   that   ho   should   return    there   again   to   renew  the 


210  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

degradation  from  which  he  had  suffered  this  night.  Indeed, 
what  else  could  he  do  now?  He  had,  as  it  were,  solemnly 
plighted  his  troth  to  the  girl  before  a  third  person  who  had 
brought  them  together,  with  the  acknowledged  purpose  of 
witnessing  that  ceremony.  He  had,  before  Mrs.  Davis,  and 
before  the  girl  herself,  heard  her  spoken  of  as  his  wife,  and  had 
agreed  to  the  understanding  that  such  an  arrangement  was  a 
settled  thing.  AYhat  else  had  he  to  do  now  but  to  return  and 
complete  his  part  of  the  bargain  ?  What  else  but  that,  and  be 
a  wretched,  miserable,  degraded  man  for  the  rest  of  his  days ; 
lower,  viler,  more  contemptible,  infinitely  lower,  even  than  his 
brother  clerks  at  the  office,  whom  in  his  pride  he  had  so  much 
despised  ? 

He  walked  from  Norfolk  Street  into  the  Strand,  and  there 
the  world  was  still  alive,  though  it  was  now  nearly  one  o'clock. 
The  debauched  misery,  the  wretched  outdoor  midnight  revelry  of 
the  world  was  there,  streaming  in  and  out  from  gin  palaces,  and 
bawling  itself  hoarse  with  horrid,  discordant,  screech-owl  slang. 
But  he  went  his  way  unheeding  and  uncontaminated.  Now, 
now  that  it  was  useless,  he  was  thinking  of  the  better  things  of 
the  world  ;  nothing  now  seemed  worth  his  grasp,  nothing  now 
seemed  pleasurable,  nothing  capable  of  giving  joy,  but  what 
was  decent,  good,  reputable,  cleanlj^,  and  polished.  How  he 
hated  now  that  lower  world  with  which  he  had  for  the  last 
three  years  condescended  to  pass  so  much  of  his  time !  how  he 
hated  himself  for  his  own  vileness  !  He  thought  of  what  Alaric 
was,  of  what  Norman  was,  of  what  he  himself  might  have 
been — he  that  was  praised  by  Mrs.  Woodward  for  his  talent,  he 
that  was  encouraged  to  place  himself  among  the  authors  of  the 
day  !  He  thought  of  all  this,  and  then  he  thought  of  what  he 
was — the  affianced  husband  of  Norah  Geraghty  ! 

He  went  along  the  Strand,  over  the  crossing  under  the  statue 
of  Charles  on  horseback,  and  up  Pall  Mall  East  till  he  came  to 
the  opening  into  the  park  under  the  Duke  of  York's  column. 
The  London  night  world  was  all  alive  as  he  made  his  way. 
From  the  Opera  Colonnade  shrill  voices  shrieked  out  at  him  as 
he  passed,  and  drunken  men  coming  down  from  the  night 
supper-houses  in  the  Haymarket  Saluted  him  with  affectionate 
cordiality.  The  hoarse  waterman  from  the  cabstand,  whose 
voice  had  perished  in  the  night  air,  croaked  out  at  him  the 
offer  of  a  vehicle  ;  and  one  of  the  night  beggar-women  who 
cling  like  burrs  to  those  who  roam  the  street  at  these  unhal- 
lowed hours  still  stuck  to  him,  as  she  had  done  ever  since  he 
had  entered  the  Strand. 


EVENING.  211 

"  Get  away  with  you,"  said  Charley,  turning  at  the  wretched 
creature  in  his  fierce  anger ;  "  get  away,  or  I'll  give  you  in 
charge." 

"  That  you  may  never  know  what  it  is  to  be  in  misery  your- 
self ! "  said  the  miserable  Irishwoman. 

"  If  you  follow  me  a  step  further  I  '11  have  you  locked  up," 
said  Charley. 

"  Oh,  then,  it's  you  that  have  the  hard  heart,"  said  she  ;  "and 
it's  you  that  will  suffer  yet." 

Charley  looked  round,  threw  her  the  odd  halfpence  which  he 
had  in  his  pocket,  and  then  turned  down  towards  the  column. 
The  woman  picked  up  her  prize,  and,  with  a  speedy  blessing, 
took  herself  off  in  search  of  other  prey. 

His  way  home  would  have  taken  him  up  "Waterloo  Place, 
but  the  space  round  the  column  was  now  deserted  and  quiet, 
and  sauntering  there,  without  thinking  of  what  he  did,  he 
paced  up  and  down  between  the  Clubs  and  the  steps  leading 
into  the  park.  There,  walking  to  and  fro  slowly,  he  thought 
of  his  past  career,  of  all  the  circumstances  of  his  life  since  his 
life  had  been  left  to  his  own  control,  and  of  the  absence  of  all 
hope  for  the  future. 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  He  was  deeply,  inextricably  in  debt. 
That  wretch,  M'Ruen,  had  his  name  on  bills  which  it  was 
impossible  that  he  should  ever  pay.  Tradesmen  held  other  bills 
of  his  which  were  either  now  over-due,  or  would  very  shortly 
become  so.  He  was  threatened  with  numerous  writs,  any  one 
of  which  would  suffice  to  put  him  into  gaol.  From  his  poor 
father,  burdened  as  he  was  with  other  children,  he  knew  that 
he  had  no  right  to  expect  further  assistance.  He  was  in  debt 
to  Norman,  his  best,  he  would  have  said  his  only  friend,  had  it 
not  been  that  in  all  his  misery  he  could  not  help  still  thinking 
of  Mrs.  Woodward  as  his  friend. 

And  yet  how  could  he  venture  to  think  longer  of  her,  con- 
taminated as  he  now  was  with  the  horrid  degradation  of  his 
acknowledged  love  at  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle  ? "  No  ;  he  must 
think  no  more  of  the  Woodwards ;  he  must  dream  no  more  of 
those  angel  eyes  which  in  his  waking  moments  had  so  often 
peered  at  him  out  of  heaven,  teaching  him  to  think  of  higher 
things,  giving  him  higher  hopes  than  those  which  had  come  to 
him  from  the  working  of  his  own  unaided  spirit.  Ah  !  lessons 
taught  in  vain !  vain  hopes !  lessons  that  had  come  all  too  late  ! 
hopes  that  had  been  cherished  only  to  be  deceived !  It  was  all 
over  now  !     He  had  made  his  bed,  and  he  must  lie  on  it ;  he 


212  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

had  sown  his  seed,  and  he  must  reap  his  produce,  there  was 
now  no  "  Excelsior  "  left  for  him  within  the  bounds  of  human 
probability. 

He  had  promised  to  go  to  Hampton  with  Harry  Norman  on 
Saturday,  and  he  would  go  there  for  the  last  time.  He  would 
go  there  and  tell  Mrs.  Woodward  so  much  of  the  truth  as  he 
could  bring  himself  to  utter;  he  would  say  farewell  to  that 
blest  abode ;  he  would  take  Linda's_softJiand  in  his  for  the  last 
time ;  for  the  last  time  he  would  hear  the  young,  silver-ringing, 
happy  voice  of  his  darling  Katie ;  for  the  last  time  look  into 
her  bright  face ;  for  the  last  time  play  with  her  as  with  a  child 
of  heaven — and  then  he  would  return  to  the  "Cat  and  Whistle." 

And  having  made  this  resolve  he  went  home  to  his  lodgings. 
It  was  singular  that  in  all  his  misery  the  idea  hardly  once 
occurred  to  him  of  setting  himself  right  in  the  world  by  accept- 
ing his  cousin's  offer  of  Miss  Golightly's  hand  and  fortune. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

HAMPTON    COURT    BRIDGE. 


Before  the  following  Saturday  afternoon  Charley's  spirits 
had  somewhat  recovered  their  natural  tone.  Not  that  he  was 
in  a  happy  frame  of  mind ;  the  united  energies  of  Mr.  M'Ruen 
and  Mrs.  Davis  had  been  too  powerful  to  allow  of  that ;  not 
that  he  had  given  over  his  projected  plan  of  saying  a  long  fare- 
well to  Mrs.  Woodward,  or  at  any  rate  of  telling  her  something 
of  his  position  ;  he  still  felt  that  he  could  not  continue  to  live 
on  terms  of  close  intimacy  both  with  her  daughters  and  with 
Norah  Geraghty.  But  the  spirits  of  youth  are  ever  buoyant, 
and  the  spirits  of  no  one  could  be  endowed  with  more  natural 
buoyancy  than  those  of  the  young  navvy.  Charley,  therefore, 
in  spite  of  his  misfortunes,  was  ready  with  his  manuscript  when 
Saturday  afternoon  arrived,  and,  according  to  agreement,  met 
Norman  at  the  Railway^tation. 

Only  one  evening  had  intervened  since  the  night  in  which 
he  had  ratified  his  matrimonial  engagement,  and  in  spite  of  the 
delicate  nature  of  his  position  he  had  for  that  evening  allowed 
Mr.  Peppermint  to  exercise  his  eloquence  on  the  heart  of  the 
fair  Norah  without  interruption.  He  the  while  had  been 
engaged  in  completing  the  memoirs  of  "  Crinoline  and  Macas- 
sar." 

"  Well,  Charley,"  they  asked,  one  and  all,  as  soon  as  he 


HAMPTON   COURT   BRIDGE.  213 

reached  the  Cottage,  "have  you  got  the  story?  Have  you 
brought  the  manuscript  ?  Is  it  all  finished  and  ready  for  that 
dreadful  editor  ?" 

Charley  produced  a  roll,  and  Linda  and  Katie  instantly 
pounced  upon  it. 

"  Oh  !  it  begins  with  poetry,"  said  Linda. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Katie.  "  Is  there  much  poetry  in  it, 
Charley  ?     I  do  so  hope  there  is." 

"Not  a  word  of  it,"  said  Charley;  "  that  which  Linda  sees 
is  a  song  that  the  heroine  is  singing,  and  it  isn't  supposed  to  be 
written  by  the  author  at  all." 

"  I'm  so  sorry  that  there's  no  poetr}^,"  said  Katie.  "  Can't 
you  write  poetry,  Charley?" 

"  At  any  rate  there's  lots  of  love  in  it,"  said  Linda,  who  was 
turning  over  the  pages. 

"  Is  there  ?"  said  Katie.  "  Well,  that's  next  best ;  but  they 
should  go  together.  You  should  have  put  all  your  love  into 
verse,  Charley,  and  then  your  prose  would  have  done  for  the 
funny  parts." 

"  Perhaps  it's  all  fun,"  said  Mrs.  "Woodward.  "  But  come, 
girls,  this  is  not  fair ;  I  won't  let  you  look  at  the  story  till  it's 
read  in  full  committee."  And  so  saying,  Mrs.  Woodward  took 
the  papers  from  her  daughters,  and  tying  them  up,  deposited 
them  safe  in  custody.  "  We'll  have  it  out  when  the  tea-things 
are  gone." 

But  before  the  tea-things  had  come,  an  accident  happened, 
which  had  been  like  to  dismiss  "  Crinoline  and  Macassar"  alto- 
gether from  the  minds  of  the  Woodward  family.  The  young 
men  had,  as  usual,  dined  in  town,  and  therefore  they  were  all 
able  to  spend  the  long  summer  evening  out  of  doors.  Norman's 
boat  was  down  at  Hampton,  and  it  was  therefore  determined 
that  they  should  row  down  as  far  as  Hampton  Court  Park  and 
back.  Charley  and  Norman  were  to  row  ;  and  Mrs.  Woodward 
agreed  to  accompany  her  daughters.  Uncle  Bat  was  left  at 
home,  to  his  nap  and  rum  and  water. 

Norman  was  so  expert  a  Thames  waterman,  that  he  was 
quite  able  to  manage  the  boat  without  a  steersman,  and  Charley 
was  nearly  his  equal.  But  there  is  some  amusement  in  steer- 
ing, and  Katie  was  allowed  to  sit  between  the  tiller-ropes. 

"I  can  steer  very  well,  mamma:  can't  I,  Harry?  I  always 
steer  when  we  go  to  the  island,  and  we  run  the  boat  straight 
into  the  little  creek,  only  just  broad  enough  to  hold  it."  Katie's 
visits  to  the  island,  however,  were  not  so  frequent  as  they  had 


214  r    THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

heretofore  been,  for  she  was  approaching  to  sixteen  years  of 
age,  and  wet  feet  and  draggled  petticoats  had  lost  some  of  their 
charms.  Mrs.  Woodward,  trusting  more  to  the  experience  of 
her  two  knights  than  to  the  skill  of  the  lady  at  the  helm,  took 
her  seat,  and  they  went  off  merrily  down  the  stream. 

All  the  world  knows  that  it  is  but  a  very  little  distance  from 
Hampton  Church  to  Hampton  Court  Bridge,  especially  when 
one  has  the  stream  with  one.  They  were  very  soon  near  to  the 
bridge,  and  as  they  approached  it,  they  had  to  pass  a  huge 
barge,  that  was  lazily  making  its  way  down  to  Brentford. 

"  There's  lots  of  time  for  the  big  arch,"  said  Charley. 

"  Pull  away  then,"  said  Harry. 

They  both  pulled  hard,  and  shot  alongside  and  past  the 
barge.  But  the  stream  was  strong,  and  the  great  ugly  mass  of 
black  timber  moved  behind  them  quicker  than  it  seemed 
to  do. 

"  It  will  be  safer  to  take  the  one  to  the  left,"  said  Harry. 

"  Oh !  there's  lots  of  time,"  said  Charley. 

"  No,"  said  Harry,  "  do  as  I  tell  you  and  go  to  the  left. — 
Pull  your  left  hand  a  little,  Katie." 

Charley  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  Katie  intended  to  do  the 
same ;  but  unfortunately  she  pulled  the  wrong  hand.  They 
were  now  very  near  the  bridge,  and  the  barge  was  so  close  to 
them  as  to  show  that  there  might  have  been  danger  in  attempt- 
ing to  get  through  the  same  arch  with  her. 

"  Your  left  hand,  Katie,  your  left,"  shouted  Norman ;  "  your 
left  string."  Katie  was  confused,  and  gave  first  a  pull  with  her 
right,  and  then  a  pull  with  her  left,  and  then  a  strong  pull  with 
her  right.  The  two  men  backed  water  as  hard  as  they  could, 
but  the  effect  of  Katie's  steering  was  to  drive  the  nose  of  the 
boat  right  into  one  of  the  wooden  piers  of  the  bridge. 

The  barge  went  on  its  way,  and  luckily  made  its  entry  under 
the  arch  before  the  little  craft  had  swung  round  into  the  stream 
before  it;  as  it  was,  the  boat,  still  clinging  by  its  nose,  came 
round  with  its  stern  against  the  side  of  the  barge,  and  as  the 
latter  went  on,  the  timbers  of  Norman's  wherry  cracked  and 
crumpled  in  the  rude  encounter. 

The  ladies  should  all  have  kept  their  seats.  Mrs.  Woodward 
did  so.  Linda  jumped  up,  and  being  next  to  the  barge,  was 
pulled  up  into  it  by  one  of  the  men.  Katie  stood  bolt  upright, 
with  the  tiller-ropes  still  in  her  hand,  awe-struck  at  the  misfor- 
tune she  had  caused ;  but  while  she  was  so  standing,  the  stern 
of  the  boat  was  lifted  nearly  out  of  the  water  by  the  weight  of  the 


HAMPTON   COUET   BRIDGE.  215 

barge,  and  Katie  was  pitched,  behind  her  mother's  back,  head- 
foremost into  the  water. 

Norman,  at  the  moment,  was  endeavoring  to  steady  the  boat, 
and  shove  it  off  from  the  barge,  and  had  also  lent  a  hand  to 
assist  Linda  in  her  escape.  Charley  was  on  the  other  side, 
standing  up  and  holding  on  by  the  piers  of  the  bridge,  keeping 
his  eyes  on  the  ladies,  so  as  to  be  of  assistance  to  them  when 
assistance  might  be  needed. 

And  now  assistance  was  sorely  needed,  and  luckily  had  not 
to  be  long  waited  for.  Charley,  with  a  light  and  quick  step, 
passed  over  the  thwarts,  and,  disregarding  Mrs.  Woodward's 
scream,  let  himself  down,  over  the  gunwale  behind  her  seat,  into 
the  water.  Katie  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  sunk  at  all.  She 
had,  at  least,  never  been  so  much  under  the  water  as  to  be  out 
of  sight.  Her  clothes  kept  up  her  light  body  ;  and  when 
Charley  got  close  to  her,  she  had  been  carried  up  to  the  piers 
of  the  bridge,  and  was  panting  with  her  head  above  water, 
and  beating  the  stream  with  her  little  hands. 

She  was  soon  again  in  comparative  safety.  Charley  had  her 
by  one  arm  as  he  held  on  with  the  other  to  the  boat,  and  kept 
himself  afloat  with  his  legs.  Mrs.  Woodward  leaned  over  and 
caught  her  daughter's  clothes;  while  Linda,  who  had  seen  what 
had  happened,  stood  shrieking  on  the  barge,  as  it  made  its  way 
on,  heedless  of  the  ruin  it  left  behind. 

Another  boat  soon  came  to  their  assistance  from  the  shore, 
and  Mrs.  Woodward  and  Katie  were  got  safely  into  it.  Charley 
returned  to  the  battered  wherry,  and  assisted  Norman  in  extricat- 
ing it  from  its  position ;  and  a  third  boat  went  to  Linda's  res- 
cue, who  would  otherwise  have  found  herself  in  rather  an  uncom- 
fortable position  the  next  morning  at  Brentford. 

The  hugging  and  kissing  to  which  Katie  was  subjected  when 
she  was  carried  up  to  the  inn,  near  the  boat-slip  on  the  Surrey 
side  of  the  river,  may  be  imagined ;  as  may  also  the  faces  she 
made  at  the  wine-glassful  of  stiff  brandy  and  water  which  she 
was  desired  to  drink.  She  was  carried  home  in  a  fly,  and  by 
the  time  she  arrived  there,  had  so  completely  recovered  her  life 
and  spirits  as  to  put  a  vehement  negative  on  her  mother's  propo- 
sition that  she  should  at  once  go  to  bed. 

"  And  not  hear  dear  Charley's  story  ?"  said  she,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "  And,  mamma,  I  can't  and  won't  go  to  bed  without 
seeing  Charley.  I  didn't  say  one  word  yet  to  thank  him  for 
jumping  into  the  water  after  me." 

It  was  in  vain  that  her  mother  told  her  that  Charley's  story 


216>  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

would  amuse  lier  twice  as  mucli  when  she  should  read  it  printed ; 
it  was  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Woodward  assured  her  that  Charley 
should  come  up  to  her  room  door,  and  hear  her  thanks  as  he 
stood  in  the  passage,  with  the  door  ajar.  Katie  was  determined 
to  hear  the  story  read.  It  must  be  read,  if  read  at  all,  that 
Saturday  night,  as  it  was  to  be  sent  to  the  editor  in  the  course  of 
the  week ;  and  reading  "  Crinoline  and  Macassar"  out  loud  on 
a  Sunday  was  not  to  be  thought  of  at  Surbiton  Cottage.  Katie 
was  determined  to  hear  the  story  read,  and  to  sit  very  near  the 
author,  too,  during  the  reading ;  to  sit  near  him,  and  to  give  him 
such  praise  as  even  in  her  young  mind  she  felt  that  an  author 
would  like  to  hear.  Charley  had  pulled  her  out  of  the  river, 
and  no  one,  as  far  as  her  efforts  could  prevent  it,  should  be  al- 
lowed to  throw  cold  water  on  him. 

Norman  and  Charley,  wet  as  the  latter  was,  contrived  to 
bring  the  shattered  boat  back  to  Hampton.  When  they 
reached  the  lawn  at  Surbiton  Cottage  they  were  both  in  high 
spirits.  An  accident,  if  it  does  no  material  harm,  is  always 
an  inspiriting  thing,  unless  one  feels  that  it  has  been  attribu- 
table to  one's  own  fault.  Neither  of  them  could  in  this 
instance  attach  any  blame  to  himself,  and  each  felt  that  he 
had  done  what  in  him  lay  to  prevent  the  possible  ill  effect 
of  the  mischance.  As  for  the  boat,  Harry  was  too  happy  to 
think  that  none  of  his  friends  were  hurt  to  care  much  about 
that. 

As  they  walked  across  the  lawn  Mrs.  Woodward  ran  out  to 
them.  "  My  dear,  dear  Charley,"  she  said,  "  what  am  I  to  say 
to  thank  you  ?"  It  was  the  first  time  Mrs.  Woodward  had  ever 
called  him  by  his  Christian  name.  It  had  hitherto  made  him 
in  a  certain  degree  unhappy  that  she  never  did  so,  and  now  the 
sound  was  very  pleasant  to  him. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Woodward,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  you  mustn't 
touch  me,  for  I'm  all  mud." 

"  My,  dear,  dear  Charley,  what  can  I  say  to  you  ?  and  dear 
Harry,  I  fear  we've  spoilt  your  beautiful  new  boat." 

"  I  fear  we've  spoilt  Katie's  beautiful  new  hat,"  said  Norman. 

Mrs.  Woodward  had  taken  and  pressed  a  hand  of  each  of 
them,  in  spite  of  Charley's  protestations  about  the  mud. 

"  Oh  !  you're  in  a  dreadful  state,"  said  she ;  "  you  had  better 
take  something  at  once ;  you'll  catch  your  death  of  cold." 

"  I'd  better  take  myself  off  to  the  inn,"  said  Charley,  "  and 
get  some  clean  clothes  ;  that's  all  I  want,  But  how  is  Katie — 
and  how  is  Linda  ?" 


HAMPTON    COUKT   BRIDGE.  217 

And  so,  after  a  multitude  of  such  inquiries  on  both  sides,  and 
of  all  manner  of  affectionate  greetings,  Charley  went  off  to 
make  himself  dry,  preparatory  to  the  reading  of  the  manuscript. 

During  his  absence,  Linda  and  Katie  came  down  to  the 
drawing-room.  Linda  was  full  of  fun  as  to  her  journey  with 
the  bargeman  ;  but  Katie  was  a  little  paler  than  usual,  and 
somewhat  more  serious  and  quiet  than  she  was  wont  to  be. 

Norman  was  the  first  in  the  drawing-room,  and  received  the 
thanks  of  the  ladies  for  his  prowess  in  assisting  them  ;  and 
Charley  was  not  slow  to  follow  him,  for  he  was  never  very  long 
at  his  toilet.  He  came  in  with  a  jaunty  laughing  air,  as  though 
nothing  particular  had  happened,  and  as  if  he  had  not  a  care 
in  the  world.  And  yet  while  he  had  been  dressing  he  had 
been  thinking  almost  more  than  ever  of  Norah  Geraghty.  O 
that  she,  and  Mrs.  Davis  with  her,  and  Jabesh  M'Ruen  with  both 
of  them,  could  be  buried  ten  fathom  deep  out  of  his  sight,  and 
out  of  his  mind  ! 

AVhen  he  entered  the  room,  Katie  felt  her  heart  beat  so 
strongly  that  she  hardly  knew  how  to  thank  him  for  saving  her 
life.  A  year  ago  she  would  have  got  up  and  kissed  him  inno- 
cently ;  but  a  year  makes  a  great  difference.  She  could  not  do 
that  now,  so  she  gave  him  her  little  hand,  and  held  his  till  he 
came  and  sat  down  at  his  place  at  the  table. 

"  Ob,  Charley,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,"  said  she  ; 
and  he  could  see  and  feel  that  her  whole  body  was  shaking  with 
emotion. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  to  say  :  '  Charley,  here  is  your  tea, 
and  some  bread,  and  some  butter,  and  some  jam,  and  some 
maffin,'  for  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  evening  bath  has  made  me  as 
hungry  as  a  hunter.     I  hope  it  has  done  the  same  to  you." 

Katie,  still  holding  his  hand,  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  he 
saw  that  her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears.  She  then  left  his 
side,  and,  running  round  the  room,  filled  a  plate  with  all  the 
things  he  had  asked  for,  and,  bringing  them  to  him,  again  took 
her  place  beside  him.  "  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  do  more  than 
that,"  said  she. 

"I  suppose,  Charley,  you'll  have  to  make  an  entry  about  that 
barge  on  Monday  morning,  won't  you  ?"  said  Linda.  "  Mind 
you  put  in  it  how  beautiful  I  looked  sailing  through  the  arch." 

"Yes,  and  how  very  gallant  the  bargeman  was,"  said 
Norman. 

"  Yes,  and  how  much  you  enjoyed  the  idea  of  going  down 
the  river  with  him,  while  we  came  back  to  the  Cottage,"  said 

10 


218  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

Charley.  "  We'll  put  it  all  down  at  tlie  Navigation,  and  old 
Snape  shall  make  a  special  minute  about  it." 

Katie  drank  her  tea  in  silence,  and  tried  to  eat,  though 
without  much  success.  When  chatting  voices  and  jokes  were 
to  be  heard  at  the  Cottage,  the  sound  of  her  voice  was  usually 
the  foremost;  but  now  she  sat  demure  and  quiet.  She  was 
realizing  the  danger  from  which  she  had  escaped,  and,  as  is  so 
often  the  case,  was  beginning  to  fear  it  now  that  it  was  over. 

"  Ah,  Katie,  my  bonny  bird,"  said  her  mother,  seeing  that 
she  was  not  herself,  and  knowing  that  the  excitement  and  over- 
powering feelings  of  gratitude  were  too  much  for  her — "  come 
here ;  you  should  be  in  bed,  my  foolish  little  puss,  should  you 
not  ?" 

"Indeed,  she  should,"  said  Uncle  Bat,  who  was  somewhat 
hard-hearted  about  the  affair  of  the  accident,  and  had  been 
cruel  enough,  after  hearing  an  account  of  it,  to  declare  that  it 
was  all  Katie's  fault.  "  Indeed,  she  should  ;  and  if  she  had 
gone  to  bed  a  little  earlier  in  the  evening  it  would  have  been 
all  the  better  for  Master  Norman's  boat." 

"  Oh  !  mamma,  don't  send  me  to  bed,"  said  she,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "  Pray  don't  send  me  to  bed  now ;  I'm  quite  well, 
only  I  can't  talk  because  I'm  thinking  of  what  Charley  did  for 
me  ;"  and  so  saying  she  got  up,  and,  hiding  her  face  on  her 
mother's  shoulder,  burst  into  tears. 

"  My  dearest  child,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  I'm  afraid  you'll 
make  yourself  ill.  We'll  put  oflf  the  reading,  won't  we, 
Charley  ?     We  have  done  enough  for  one  evening." 

"Of  course  we  will,"  said  he.  "Reading  a  stupid  story  will 
be  very  slow  work  after  all  we've  gone  through  to-day." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  said  Katie  ;  "  it  shan't  be  put  off ;  there  won't 
be  any  other  time  for  hearing  it.  And,  mamma,  it  must  be 
read ;  and  I  know  it  won't  be  stupid.  Oh,  mamma,  dear 
mamma,  do  let  us  hear  it  read  ;  I'm  quite  well  now." 

Mrs.  Woodward  found  herself  obliged  to  give  way.  She 
had  not  the  heart  to  bid  her  daughter  go  away  to  bed,  nor,  had 
she  done  so,  would  it  have  been  of  any  avail.  Katie  would 
only  have  lain  and  sobbed  in  her  own  room,  and  very  probably 
have  gone  into  hysterics.  The  best  thing  for  her  was  to  try  to 
turn  the  current  of  her  thoughts,  and  thus  by  degrees  tame 
down  her  excited  feelings. 

"  Well,  darling,  then  we  will  have  the  story,  if  Charley  w^ll 
let  us.  Go  and  fetch  it,  dearest."  Katie  raised  herself  from  her 
mother's  bosom,  and,  going  across  the  room,  fetched  the  roll  of 


CRINOLINE   AND   MACASSAB.  219 

papers  to  Charley.  As  he  prepared  to  take  it  she  took  his 
hand  in  hers,  and,  bending  her  head  over  it,  tenderly  kissed  it. 
"  You  mustn't  think,"  said  she,  "  that  because  I  say  nothing,  I 
don't  know  what  it  is  that  you've  done  for  me  ;  but  I  don't 
know  how  to  say  it." 

Charley  was  at  any  rate  as  ignorant  what  he  ought  to  say  as 
Katie  was.  He  felt  the  pressure  of  her  warm  lips  on  his  hand, 
and  hardly  knew  where  he  was.  He  felt  that  he  blushed  and 
looked  abashed,  and  dreaded,  fearfully  dreaded,  lest  Mrs. 
Woodward  should  surmise  that  he  estimated  at  other  than  its 
intended  worth,  her  daughter's  show  of  affection  for  him. 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  doing  it  every  night,"  said  he,  "  in  such 
weather  as  this.  I  think  it  rather  good  fun  going  into  the 
water  with  my  clothes  on."  Katie  looked  up  at  him  through 
her  tears,  as  though  she  would  say  that  she  well  understood 
what  that  meant. 

Mrs.  Woodward  saw  that  if  the  story  was  to  be  read,  the 
sooner  they  began  it  the  better. 

"Come,  Charley,"  said  she,  "now  for  the  romance.  Katie, 
come  and  sit  by  me."  But  Katie  had  already  taken  her  seat,  a 
little  behind  Charley,  quite  in  the  shade,  and  she  was  not  to  be 
moved. 

"But  I  won't  read  it  myself,"  said  Charley;  "you  must  read 
it,  Mrs.  Woodward." 

"  0  yes,  Mrs.  Woodward,  you  are  to  read  it,"  said  Norman. 

"0  yes,  do  read  it,  mamma,"  said  Linda.  Katie  said 
nothing,  but  she  would  have  preferred  that  Charley  should 
have  read  it  himself. 

"  Well,  if  I  can,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  Snape  says  I  write  the  worst  hand  in  all  Somerset  House," 
said  Charley  ;  "  but  still  I  think  you'll  be  able  to  manage  it." 

"  I  hate  that  Mr.  Snape,"  said  Katie,  sotto  voce.  And  then 
Mrs.  Woodward  unrolled  the  manuscript  and  began  her  task. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

CRINOLINE   AND    MACASSAR*,    OR,   MY    AUNt's   WILL. 

"  Well,  Katie  was  right,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  it  does 
begin  with  poetry." 

"  It's  only  a  song,"  said  Charley,  apologetically — "  and  after 
all  there  is  only  one  verse  of  that " — and  then  Mrs.  Woodward 
began 


220  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 


'CRINOLINE  AND  MACASSAR.' 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  is  the  name  of  Mr.  Charles 
Tudor's  new  novel." 

"  Crinoline  and  Macassar !  "  said  Uncle  Bat.  "  Are  they 
intended  for  human  beings'^names  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  heroine  and  the  hero,  as  I  take  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward,  "  and  I  presume  them  to  be  human,  unless  they 
turn  out  to  be  celestial." 

"  I  never  heard  such  names  in  my  life,"  said  the  captain. 

"At  any  rate,  uncle,  they  are  as  good  as  Sir  Jib  Boom  and 
Captain  Hardaport,"  said  Katie,  pertly. 

"  We  won't  mind  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward  ;  "  I'm 
going  to  begin,  and  I  beg  I  may  not  be  interrupted." 

'CRINOLINE  AND  MACASSAR. 

'The  lovely  Crinoline  was  sitting  alone  at  a  lattice  window 
on  a  summer  morning,  and  as  she  sat  she  sang  with  melancholy 
cadence  the  first  part  of  the  now  celebrated  song  which  had 
then  lately  appeared,  from  the  distinguished  pen  of  Sir  G —  H — .' 

"  Who  is  Sir  G^  H— ,  Charley  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  tell  that,"  said  Charley.  "  That 
must  be  left  to  the  tact  and  intelligence  of  my  readers." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "we  will  abstain  from 

all  impertinent  questions " 'from  the  distinguished  pen   of 

Sir  G —  H — .    The  ditty  which  she  sang  ran  as  follows  : — 

**  My  heart's  at  my  office,  my  heart  is  always  there — 
My  heart's  at  my  office,  docketing  with  care ; 
Docketing  the  papers,  and  copying  all  day. 
My  heart's  at  my  office,  though  I  be  far  away.' 

'  "  Ah  me !"  said  the  Lady  Crinoline- 


What — is  she  a  peer's  daughter  ?  "  said  Uncle  Bat. 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Charley,  "  it's  only  a  sort  of  semi-poetic 
way  one  has  of  speaking  of  one's  heroine." 

'  "Ah  me !"  said  the  Lady  Crinoline — "his  heart !  his  heart! — 
I  wonder  whether  he  has  got  a  heart;"  and  then  she  san*r 
again  in  low  plaintive  voice  the  first  line  of  the  song,  suiting 
the  cadence  to  her  own  case : 

"His  heart  is  at  his  office,  his  heart  is  always  there." 

'  It  was  evident  that  the  Lady  Crinoline  did  not  repeat  the 


CRINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  221 

words  in  the  feeling  of  their  great  author,  who  when  he  wrote 
them  had  intended  to  excite  to  high  deeds  of  exalted  merit  that 
portion  of  the  British  youth  which  is  employed  in  the  Civil 
Service  of  the  country. 

'  Crinoline  laid  down  her  lute — it  was  in  fact  an  accordian — 
and  gazing  listlessly  over  the  rails  of  the  balcony,  looked  out  at 
the  green  foliage  which  adorned  the  inclosure  of  the  square 
below. 

'It  was  Tavistock  Square.  The  winds  of  March  and  the 
showers  of  April  had  been  successful  in  producing  the  buds  of 
May.' 

"Ah,  Charle}^,  that's  taken  from  the  old  song,"  said  Katie, 
"only  you've  put  buds  instead  of  flowers." 

"  That's  quite  allowable," said  Mrs.  Woodward "'successful 

in  producing  the  buds  of  May.  The  sparrows  chirped  sweetly 
on  the  house-top,  and  the  coming  summer  gladdened  the  hearts 
of  all — of  all  except  poor  Crinoline. 

'"I  wonder  whether  he  has  a  heart,"  said  she;  "and  if  he 
has,  I  wonder  whether  it  is  at  his  office." 

'As  she  thus  soliloquised,  the  door  was  opened  by  a  youthful 
page,  on  whose  well-formed  breast,  buttons  seenied  to  grow  like 
mushrooms  in  the  meadows  in  August. 

'  "  Mr.  Macassar  Jones,"  said  the  page  ;  and  having  so  said, 
he  discreetly  disappeared.  He  was  in  his  line  of  life  a  valuable 
member  of  society.  He  had  brought  from  his  last  place  a 
twelvemonth's  character  that  was  creditable  alike  to  his  head 
and  heart :  he  was  now  found  to  be  a  trustworthy  assistant  in 
the  household  of  the  Lady  Crinoline's  mother,  and  was  the 
delight  of  his  aged  parents,  to  whom  he  regularly  remitted  no 
inconsiderable  portion  of  his  wages.  Let  it  always  be  remem- 
bered that  the  life  even  of  a  page  may  be  glorious.  All  honor 
to  the  true  and  brave !' 

"  Goodness,  Charley — how  very  moral  you  are  !"  said  Linda. 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "that's  indispensable.  It's  the  intention  of 
the  'Daily  Delight'  always  to  hold  up  a  career  of  virtue  to'th^ 
lower  orders  as  the  thing  that  pays.  Horiesty^-higJi.  w!agfis,-and 
hot  dinjxers.     Those  are  our  principle^^' 

'"TTou'll  have  a  deal  to  do  before  you'll  bring  the  lower  orders 
to  agree  with  you,"  said  Uncle  Bat. 

"  We  have  a  deal  to  do,"  said  Charley,  "  and  w^e'll  do  it.  The 
power  of  the  cheap  press  is  unbounded." 

" '  As  the  page  closed  the  door,  a  light,  low,  melancholy  step 
was  heard  to  make  its  way  across  the  drawing-room.   Crinoline's 


222  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

heart  had  given  one  start  when  she  had  heard  the  announce- 
ment of  the  well-known  name.  She  had  once  glanced  with 
eager  inquiring  eye  towards  the  door.  But  not  in  vain  to  her  had 
an  excellent  mother  taught  the  proprieties  of  elegant  life.  Long 
before  Macassar  Jones  was  present  in  the  chamber  she  had 
snatched  up  the  tambour-frame  that  lay  beside  her,  and  when  he 
entered  she  was  zealously  engaged  on  the  fox's  head  that  was 
to  ornament  the  toe  of  a  left-foot  slipper.  "Who  shall  dare  to 
say  that  those  slippers  were  intended  to  grace  the  feet  ol 
Macassar  Jones?' 

"But  I  suppose  they  were,"  said  Katie. 

"  You  must  wait  and  see,"  said  her  mother ;  "  for  my  part  I 
am  not  at  all  so  sure  of  that." 

"  Oh,  but  I  know  they  must  be  ;  for  she's  in  love  with  him," 
said  Katie. 

'"Oh,  Mr.  Macassar,"  said  the  Lady  Crinoline,  when  he  had 
drawn  nigh  to  her,  "  and  how  are  you  to-day  ?"  This  mention 
of  his  Christian  name  betrayed  no  undue  familiarity,  as  the  two 
families  were  intimate,  and  Macassar  had  four  elder  brothers. 
"  I  am  so  sorry  mamma  is  not  at  home ;  she  will  regret  not  see- 
ing you  amazingly." 

" '  Macassar  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  he  stood  awhile 
gazing  at  the  fox  in  the  pattern.  "  Won't  you  sit  down  ?"  said 
Crinoline. 

'  "Is  it  very  dusty  in  the  street  to-day  ?"  asked  Crinoline  ;  and 
as  she  spoke,  she  turned  upon  him  a  face  wreathed  in  the 
sweetest  smiles,  radiant  with  elegant  courtesy,  and  altogether 
expressive  of  extreme  gentility,  unsullied  propriety,  and  a  very 
high  tone  of  female  education.  "  Is  it  very  dusty  in  the  street 
to-day?" 

'  Charmed  by  the  involuntary  grace  of  her  action,  Macassar 
essayed  to  turn  his  head  towards  her  as  he  replied ;  he  could 
not  turn  it  much,  for  he  wore  an  all-rounder  ;  but  still  he  was 
enabled  by  a  side  glance  to  see  more  of  that  finished  elegance 
than  was  perhaps  good  for  his  peace  of  mind. 

' "  Yes,"  said  he,  "  it  is  dusty  ; — it  certainly  is  dusty,  rather ; — 
but  not  very — and  then  in  most  streets  they've  got  the  water- 
carts." 

'  "  Ah,  I  love  those  water-carts !"  said  Crinoline  ;  "  the  dust, 
you  know,  is  so  trying." 

' "  To  the  complexion  ?"  suggested  Macassar,  again  looking 
round  as  best  he  might  over  the  bulwark  of  his  collar. 

'Crinoline  laughed  slightly  ;  it  was  perhaps  hardly  more  than 


CKINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  223 

a  simper,  and  turning  her  lovely  eyes  from  her  work,  she  said, 
"  Well,  to  the  complexion,  if  you  will.  What  would  you  gen- 
tlemen say  if  we  ladies  were  to  be  careless  of  our  complexions  ?" 

'  Macassar  merely  sighed  gently — perhaps  he  had  no  fitting 
answer  ;  perhaps  his  heart  was  too  full  for  him  to  answer.  He 
saw  with  his  eye  fixed  on  his  hat,  which  still  dangled  in  his 
hand  ;  but  his  mind's  eye  was  far  away. 

'  "  Is  it  in  his  office  ?"  thought  Crinoline  to  herself;  "  or  is  it 
here  ?     Is  it  anywhere  ?" 

* "  Have  you  learnt  the  song  I  sent  you  ?"  said  he  at  last, 
waking,  as  it  were,  from  a  trance. 

'  "  Not  yet,"  said  she — "  that  is,  not  quite  ;  that  is,  I  could 
not  sing  it  before  strangers  yet." 

*  "  Strangers  I"  said  Macassar  ;  and  he  looked  at  her  with  an 
energy  that  produced  results  not  beneficial  either  to  his  neck  or 
his  collar. 

'  Crinoline  was  delighted  at  this  expression  of  feeling.  *'  At 
any  rate  it  is  somewhere,"  said  she  to  herself ;  "  and  it  can 
hardly  be  all  at  his  oflSce." 

'  "  Well,  I  will  not  say  strangers,"  she  said  out  loud ;  "  it 
sounds — it  sounds — I  don't  know  how  it  sounds.  But  what  I 
mean  is,  that  as  yet,  I've  only  sung  it  before  mamma !" ' 

"  I  declare,  I  don't  know  which  is  the  biggest  fool  of  the  two," 
said  Uncle  Bat,  very  rudely.  "  As  for  him,  if  I  had  him  on  the 
forecastle  of  a  man-of-war  for  a  day  or  two,  I'd  soon  teach  him 
to  speak  out." 

"  You  forget,  sir,"  said  Charley,  "  he's  not  a  sailor,  he's  only 
in  the  Civil  Service;  we're  all  very-haahfiiLin  the  Civil  Service." 

"  I  think  he  is  rather  spooney,  I  must  say,"  said  Katie ; 
whereupon  Mrs.  Woodward  w^ent  on  reading. 

' "  It's  a  sweet  thing,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Macassar. 

'"Oh,  very!"  said  Crinoline,  w^ith  a  rapturous  expression 
which  pervaded  her  whole  head  and  shoulders  as  well  as  her 
face  and  bust — "  very  sweet,  and  so  new." 

'  "  It  quite  comes  home  to  me,"  said  Macassar,  and  he  sighed 
deeply. 

*  "  Then  it  is  at  his  ofiice,"  said  Crinoline  to  herself ;  and  she 
sighed  also. 

They  both  sat  silent  for  a  while,  looking  into  the  square — 
Crinoline  was  at  one  window,  and  Macassar  at  the  other ;  "  I 
must  go  now,"  said  he ;  "I  promised  to  be  back  at  three.'* 

'  "  Back  where  ?"  said  she.  ' 

* "  At  my  oflBce,"  said  he. 


224  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

'  Crinoline  sighed.  After  all,  it  was  at  his  office ;  it  was  too 
evident  that  it  was  there,  and  nowhere  else.  Well,  and  why- 
should  it  not  be  there  ?  why  should  not  Macassar  Jones  be  true 
to  his  duty  and  to  his  country  ?  What  had  she  to  do  with  his 
heart  ?  Why  should  she  wish  it  elsewhere  ?  'Twas  thus  she 
tried  to  console  herself,  but  in  vain.  Had  she  had  an  office  of 
her  own,  it  might  perhaps  have  been  different ;  but  Crinoline 
was  only  a  woman  ;  and  often  she  sighed  over  the  degradation 
of  her  lot. 

* "  Good  morning.  Miss  Crinoline,"  said  he. 

*  "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Macassar,"  said  she  ;  "  mamma  will  so 
regret  that  she  has  lost  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

'  And  then  she  rung  the  bell.  Macassar  went  down  stairs 
perhaps  somewhat  slower,  with  perhaps  more  of  melancholy  than 
when  he  entered.  The  page  opened  the  hall-door  with  alacrity, 
and  shut  it  behind  him  with  a  slam. 

'All  honor  to  the  true  and  brave ! 

'  Crinoline  again  took  up  the  note  of  her  sorrow,  and  with 
her  lute  in  her  hand,  she  warbled  forth  the  line  which  stuck 
like  a  thorn  in  her  sweet  bosom  : 

*  His  heart  is  in  his  office — his  heart  IS  always  there." ' 

"  There,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  that's  the  end  of  the  first 
chapter." 

"  Well,  I  like  the  page  the  best,"  said  Linda,  "  because  he 
seems  to  know  what  he  is  about." 

"Oh,  so  does  the  lady,"  said  Charley  ;  "but  it  wouldn't  at  all 
do  if  we  made  the  hero  and  heroine  go  about  their  work  like 
humdrum  people.  You'll  see  that  the  Lady  Crinoline  knows 
very  well  what's  what." 

"  Oh,  Charley,  pray  don't  tell  us,"  said  Katie  ;  "  I  do  so  like 
Mr.  Macassar,  he's  so  spooney  ;  pray  go  on,  mamma." 

"  I'm  ready,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  again  taking  up  the 
manuscript. 

*  CHAPTER  II. 

*  The  lovely  Crinoline  was  the  only  daughter  of  fond  parents  ; 
and  though  they  were  not  what  might  be  called  extremely 
wealthy,  considering  the  vast  incomes  of  some  residents  in  the 
metr#polis,  and  were  not  perhaps  wont  to  mix  in  the  highest 
circles  of  the  Belgravian  aristocracy,  yet  she  was  enabled  to 
dress  in  all  the  elegance  of  fashion,  and  contrived  to  see  a  good 


CRINOLINE   AND   MACASSAE.  225 

deal  of  that  society  wliich  moves  in  the  highly  respectable 
neighborhood  of  Russell  Square  and  Gower  Street. 

'  Her  dresses  were  made  at  the  distinguished  establishment 
of  Madame  Mantalini,  in  Hanover  Square ;  at  least  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  getting  one  dress  there  every  other  season,  and  this 
was  quite  sufficient  among  her  friends  to  give  her  a  reputation 
for  dealing  in  the  proper  quarter.  Once  she  had  got  a  bonnet 
direct  from  Paris,  which  gave  her  ample  opportunity  of  express- 
ing a  frequent  opinion  not  favorable  to  the  fabricators  of  a 
British  article.  She  always  took  care  that  her  shoes  had  within 
them  the  name  of  a  French  cordonnier ;  and  her  gloves  were 
made  to  order  in  the  Rue  Du  Bac,  though  usually  bought  and 
paid  for  in  Tottenham  Court  Road.' 

"  What  a  false  creature  !"  said  Linda. 

"  False  !"  said  Charley ;  "  and  how  is  a  girl  to  get  along  if  she 
be  not  false  ?  What  girl  could  live  for  a  moment  before  the 
world  if  she  were  to  tell  the  whole  truth  about  the  get-up  of  her 
wardrobe — the  patchings  and  make-believes,  the  chipped  ribbons 
and  turned  silks,  the  little  bills  here,  and  the  little  bills  there? 
How  else  is  an  allowance  of  20Z.  a-year  to  be  made  compatible 
with  an  appearance  of  unlimited  income  ?  How  else  are  young 
men  to  be  taught  to  think  that  in  an  affair  of  dress  money  is  a 
matter  of  no  moment  whatsoever  ?" 

"  Oh,  Charley,  Charley,  don't  be  slanderous,"  said  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward. 

"  I  only  repeat  what  the  editor  says  to  me — I  know  nothing 
about  it  myself.  Only  we  are  requested  '  to  hold  the  mirror 
up  to  nature,' — and  to  art  too,  I  believe.  We  are  to  set  these 
things  right,  you  know^" 

"  We — who  are  we  ?"  said  Katie. 

«  Why,  the  '  Daily  Delight,'"  said  Charley. 

"  But  I  hope  there's  nothing  false  in  patching  and  turning," 
said  Mrs.  Woodward ;  "  for  if  there  be,  I'm  the  falsest  woman 
alive. 

*  To  gar  the  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel's  the  new' — 

is,  I  thought,  one  of  the  most  legitimate  objects  of  a  woman's 
diligence." 

"  It  all  depends  on  the  spirit  of  the  stitches,"  said  Charley 
the  censor. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  don't  like  mending  up  old  clothes  a  bit 
better  than  Charley  does,"  said  Katie ;  "  but  pray  go  on,  mam- 
ma ;"  so  Mrs.  Woodward  continued  to  read. 

10* 


226  THE  THEEE   CLEEKS. 

*  On  the  day  of  Macassar's  visit  in  Tavistock  Square,  Crino- 
line was  dressed  in  a  most  elegant  morning  costume.  It  was  a 
very  light  barege  muslin,  extremely  full;  and  w^hich,  as  she 
had  assured  her  friend.  Miss  Manasseh,  of  Keppel  Street,  had 
been  sent  home  from  the  establishment  in  Hanover  Square  only 
the  day  before.  I  am  aware  that  Miss  Manasseh  instantly  pro- 
pagated an  ill-natured  report  that  she  had  seen  the  identical 
dress  in  a  milliner's  room  up  two  pairs  back  in  Store  Street ; 
but  then  Miss  Manasseh  w^as  known  to  be  envious ;  and  had 
moreover  seen  twelve  seasons  out  in  those  localities,  whereas 
the  fair  Crinoline,  young  thing,  had  graced  Tavistock  Square 
only  for  two  years ;  and  her  mother  was  ready  to  swear  that 
she  had  never  passed  the  nursery  door  till  she  came  there. 
The  ground  of  the  dress  was  a  light  pea  green,  and  the  pattern 
was  ivy  wreaths  entwined  with  pansies  and  tulips — each  flounce 
showed  a  separate  wreath — and  there  were  nine  flounces,  the 
highest  of  which  fairy  circles  was  about  three  inches  below 
the  smallest  waist  that  ever  was  tightly  girded  in  steel  and 
whalebone. 

'  Macassar  had  once  declared,  in  a  moment  of  ecstatic  energy, 
that  a  small  waist  was  the  chiefest  grace  in  woman.  How 
often  had  the  Lady  Crinoline's  maid,  when  in  the  extreme  agon^ 
of  her  labor,  put  a  malediction  on  his  name  on  account  of  this 
speech ! 

'  It  is  unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  drapery  of  the  arms,  which 
showed  the  elaborate  lace  of  the  sleeve  beneath,  and  sometimes 
also  the  pearly  whiteness  of  that  rounded  arm.  This  was  a 
sight  which  would  almost  drive  Macassar  to  distraction.  At 
such  moments  as  that  the  hopes  of  the  patriotic  poet  for  the 
good  of  the  Civil  Service  were  not  strictly  fulfilled  in  the  heart 
of  Macassar  Jones.  Oh,  if  the  Lady  Crinoline  could  but  have 
known !    . 

'  It  is  unnecessary  also  to  describe  the  strange  and  hidden 
mechanism  of  that  mysterious  petticoat  which  gave  such  full 
dimensions,  such  ample  sweeping  proportions  to  the  tout  ensem- 
ble of  the  lady's  appearance.  It  is  unnecessary,  and  would 
perhaps  be  improper,  and  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  is  certainly 
impossible.' 

Here  Charley  blushed,  as  Mrs.  Woodward  looked  at  him  from 
over  the  top  of  the  paper. 

'  Let  it  sufiice  to  say,  that  she  could  envelope  a  sofa  without 
the  slightest  eff'ort,  throw  her  draperies  a  yard  and  a  half  from 
her  on  either  side  without  any  appearance  of  stretching,  com- 


CRINOLINE   AND    MACASSAR.  227 

pletely  fill  a  carriage  ;  or,  wliich  was  more  frequently  her  fate, 
entangle  herself  all  but  inextricably  in  a  cab. 

*A  word,  however,  must  be  said  of  those  little  feet  that 
peeped  out  now  and  again  so  beautifully  from  beneath  the  art- 
istic constructions  above  alluded  to — of  the  feet,  or  perhaps 
rather  of  the  shoes.  But  yet,  what  can  be  said  of  them  success- 
fully ?  That  French  name  so  correctly  spelt,  so  elaborately  ac- 
cented, so  beautifully  finished  in  gold  letters,  which  from  their 
form,  however,  one  would  say  that  the  cordonnier  must  have 
imported  from  England,  was  only  visible  to  those  favored  knights 
who  were  occasionally  permitted  to  carry  the  shoes  home  in 
their  pockets. 

'  But  a  word  must  be  said  about  the  hair  dressed  a  Vimpe- 
ratrice,  redolent  of  the  sweetest  patchouli,  disclosing  all  the  glo- 
ries of  that  ingenuous,  but  perhaps  too  open  brow.  A  word 
must  be  said  ;  but,  alas !  how  inefficacious  to  do  justice  to  the 
ingenuity  so  wonderfully  displayed  !  The  hair  of  the  Lady 
Crinoline  was  perhaps  more  lovely  than  abundant :  to  produce 
that  glorious  eff'ect,  that  efi'ect  which  has  now  symbolised  among 
English  lasses  the  head-dress  a  rimj^eratrice  as  the  one  idea  of 
feminine  beauty,  every  hair  was  called  on  to  give  its  separate 
aid.  As  is  the  case  with  so  many  of  us  who  are  anxious  to  put 
our  best  foot  foremost,  everything  was  abstracted  from  the  rear 
in  order  to  create  a  show  in  the  front.  Then  to  complete  the 
garniture  of  the  head,  to  make  all  perfect,  to  leave  no  point  of 
escape  for  the  susceptible  admirer  of  modern  beauty,  some  dorsal 
appendage  was  necessary  of  mornings  as  well  as  in  the  more 
fally  bedizened  period  of  evening  society. 

'  Everything  about  the  sweet  Crinoline  was  wont  to  be  green. 
It  is  the  sweetest  and  most  innocent  of  colors ;  but,  alas !  a  color 
dangerous  for  the  heart's  ease  of  youthful  beauty.  Hanging 
from  the  back  of  her  head  were  to  be  seen  moss  and  fennel, 
and  various  grasses — rye  grass  and  timothy,  trefoil  and  cinquefoil, 
vetches  and  clover,  and  here  and  there  young  fern,  A  story  was 
told,  but  doubtless  false,  as  it  was  traced  to  the  mouth  of  Miss 
Manasseh,  that  once  while  Crinoline  was  reclining  in  a  paddock 
at  Richmond,  having  escaped  with  the  young  Macassar  from  the 
heat  of  a  neighboring  drawing-room,  a  cow  had  attempted  to 
feed  from  her  head.' 

"  Oh,  Charley — a  cow  !"  said  Katie. 

"  Well,  but  you  see  I  don't  give  it  as  true,"  said  Charley. 

"  I  shall  never  get  it  done,  if  Katie  won't  hold  her  tongue," 
Bald  Mrs.  Woodward. 


228  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

'But  perhaps  it  was  when  at  the  sea- side,  in  Septemher,  at 
Broad  stairs,  Heme  Bay,  or  Dover,  Crinoline  and  her  mamma 
invigorated  themselves  with  the  sea-breezes  of  the  ocean, — per- 
haps it  was  there  that  she  Avas  enabled  to  assume  that  covering 
for  her  head  in  which  her  soul  most  delighted.  It  was  a  Tom 
and  Jerry  hat  turned  up  at  the  sides,  with  a  short  but  knowing- 
feather,  velvet  trimmings,  and  a  steel  buckle  blinking  brightly 
in  the  noonday  sun.  Had  Macassar  seen  her  in  this,  he  would 
have  yielded  himself  her  captive  at  once,  quarter  or  no  quarter. 
It  was  the  most  marked,  and  perhaps  the  most  attractive  pecu- 
liarity of  the  Lady  Crinoline's  face,  that  the  end  of  her  nose 
was  a  little  turned  up.  This  charm,  in  unison  with  the  upturned 
edges  of  her  cruel-hearted  hat,  was  found  by  many  men  to  be 
invincible. 

'  We  all  know  how  dreadful  is  the  spectacle  of  a  Saracen's 
head,  as  it  appears,  or  did  appear,  painted  on  a  huge  board  at 
the  top  of  Snow  Hill.  From  that  we  are  led  to  surmise  with 
what  tremendous  audacity  of  countenance,  with  what  terror- 
striking  preparations  of  the  outward  man,  an  Eastern  army  is 
led  to  battle.  Can  any  men  so  fearfully  bold  in  appearance  ever 
turn  their  backs  and  fly  ?  They  look  as  though  they  could  de- 
stroy by  the  glance  of  their  ferocious  eyes.  Who  could  with- 
stand the  hirsute  horrors  of  those  fiery  faces  ? 

'  There  is  just  such  audacity,  a  courage  of  a  similar  descrip- 
tion, perhaps  we  may  say  an  equal  invincibility,  in  the  charms 
of  those  Tom  and  Jerry  hats,  when  duly  put  on,  over  a  face  of 
the  proper  description — over  such  a  face  as  that  of  the  Lady  Cri- 
noline. They  give  to  the  wearer  an  appearance  of  concentration 
of  pluck.  But  as  the  Eastern  array  does  quail  before  the  quiet 
valor  of  Europe,  so,  we  may  perhaps  say,  does  the  open,  quick 
audacity  of  the  Tom  and  Jerry  tend  to  less  povverful  results  than 
the  modest,  enduring  patience  of  the  bonnet.' 

"  So  ends  the  second  chapter — bravo,  Charley,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward.  "  In  the  name  of  the  British  female  public,  I  beg 
to  thank  you  for  your  exertions." 

"  The  editor  said  I  was  to  write  down  turned-up  hats,"  said 
Charley.     "  I  rather  hke  them  myself." 

"  I  hope  my  new  slouch  is  not  an  audacious  Saracen's  head," 
said  Linda. 

"  Or  mine,"  said  Katie.  "  But  you  may  say  what  you  like 
about  them  now ;  for  mine  is  drowned." 

"  Come,  girls,  there  are  four  more  chapters,  I  sec.  Let  me 
finish  it,  and  then  we  can  discuss  it  afterwards." 


CRINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  229 


'  CHAPTER  III. 


'Having  thns  described  the  Lady  Crinoline- 


"  You  haven't  described  her  at  all,"  said  Linda  ;  "  you  haven't 
got  beyond  her  clothes  yet." 

"  ^Hlgiejs^nothing  bejoudJil*«lii,"  said  Charley. 

"  You  haver?t""*evefi  described  her  face,"  said  Katie  ;  "  you 
have  only  said  that  she  had  a  turned-np  nose." 

"  There  is  nothing  further  that  one  can  say  about  it,"  said 
Charley. 

'  Having  thus  described  the  Lady  Crinoline,'  continued  Mrs. 
Woodward,  '  it  now  becomes  our  duty,  as  inipartial  historians, 
to  give  some  account  of  Mr.  Macassar  Jones. 

'  We  are  not  prepared  to  give  the  exact  name  of  the  artist 
by  whom  Mr.  Macassar  Jones  w^as  turned  out  to  the  world  so 
perfectly  dressed  a  man.  Were  we  to  do  so,  the  signal  service 
done  to  one  establishment  by  such  an  advertisement  would 
draw  down  on  us  the  anger  of  the  trade  at  large,  and  the  tailors 
of  London  w^ould  be  in  league  against  the  "  Daily  Delight."  It 
is  sufiBcient  to  remark  that  the  artist's  offices  are  not  a  hundred 
miles  from  Pall  Mall.  Nor  need  we  expressly  name  the  boot- 
maker to  whom  is  confided  the  task  of  making  those  feet 
''  small  by  degrees  and  beautifully  less."  The  process,  w^e 
understand,  has  been  painful,  but  the  effect  is  no  doubt 
remunerative. 

'  In  three  especial  w^alks  of  dress  has  Macassar  Jones  been 
more  than  ordinarily  careful  to  create  a  sensation  ;  and  we 
believe  we  may  assert  that  he  has  been  successful  in  all.  We 
have  already  alluded  to  his  feet.  Ascending  from  them,  and 
ascending  not  far,  we  come  to  his  coat.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  it  is  a  frock ;  needless  to  say  that  it  is  a  long  frock — long- 
as  those  usually  worn  by  younger  infants,  and  apparently  made 
so  for  the  same  purpose.  But  look  at  the  exquisitely  small 
proportions  of  the  collar ;  look  at  the  grace  of  the  long  sleeves, 
the  length  of  back,  the  propriety,  the  innate  respectability,  the 
perfect  decorum — we  had  almost  said  the  high  moral  w^orth — 
of  the  whole.  Who  would  not  willingly  sacrifice  any  individual 
existence  that  he  might  become  the  exponent  of  such  a  coat  ? 
Macassar  Jones  was  proud  to  do  so. 

'  But  he  had  bestowed  perhaps  the  greatest  amount  of  per- 
sonal attention  on  his  collar.  It  was  a  matter  more  within  his 
own   grasp  than  those  great  and  important  articles  to  which 


230  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

attention  has  been  already  drawn  ;  but  one,  nevertheless,  on 
which  he  was  able  to  expend  the  whole  amount  of  his  energy 
and  genius.  Some  people  may  think  that  an  all-rounder  is  an 
all-rounder,  and  that  if  one  is  careful  to  get  an  all-rounder  one 
has  done  all  that  is  necessary.  But  so  thought  not  Macassar 
Jones.  Some  men  wear  collars  of  two  plies  of  linen,  some  men 
of  three  ;  but  Macassar  Jones  wore  collars  of  four  plies.  Some 
men — some  sensual,  self-indulgent  men — appear  to  think  that 
the  collar  should  be  made  for  the  neck ;  but  Macassar  Jones 
knew  better.  He,  who  never  spared  himself  when  the  cause 
was  good,  he  knew  that  the  neck  had  been  made  for  the  collar 
— it  was  at  any  rate  evident  that  such  was  the  case  with  his 
own.  Little  can  be  said  of  his  head,  except  that  it  was  small, 
narrow,  and  genteel ;  but  his  hat  might  be  spoken  of,  and 
perhaps  with  advantage.  Of  the  loose  but  studied  tie  of  his 
inch-wide  cravat  a  paragraph  might  be  made;  but  we  would 
fain  not  be  tedious. 

'We  will  only  further  remark  that  he  always  carried  with 
liim  a  wonderful  representation  of  himself,  like  to  him  to  a 
miracle,  only  smaller  in  its  dimensions,  like  as  a  duodecimo  is 
to  a  folio — a  babe,  as  it  w^ere,  of  his  own  begetting — a  little 
alter  ego  in  which  he  took  much  delight.  It  was  his  umbrella. 
Look  at  the  delicate  finish  of  its  lower  extremity  ;  look  at  the 
long,  narrow,  and  well-made  coat  in  whichjt  is  enveloped  from 
its  neck  downwards,  without  speck,  or  blemish,  or  wrinkle  ; 
look  at  the  little  wooden  head,  nicely  polished,  with  the  effigy 
of  a  human  face  on  one  side  of  it — little  eyes  it  has,  and  a  sort 
of  nose  ;  look  closer  at  it,  and  you  will  perceive  a  mouth — not 
expressive  indeed,  but  still  it  is  there — a  mouth  and  chin  ;  and 
is  it,  or  is  it  not,  an  attempt  at  a  pair  of  whiskers  ?  It  certainly 
has  a  moustache. 

'  Such  were  Mr.  Macassar  Jones  and  his  umbrella.  He  was 
an  excellent  clerk,  and  did  great  credit  to  the  important  office  to 
which  he  was  attached — namely,  that  of  the  Episcopal  Audit 
Board.  He  was  much  beloved  by  the  other  gentlemen  who 
were  closely  connected  with  him  in  that  establishment ;  and 
may  be  said,  for  the  first  year  or  two  of  his  service,  to  have  been, 
not  exactly  the  life  and  soul,  but,  we  may  perhaps  say  with 
more  propriety,  the  pervading  genius  of  the  room  in  which  he 
sat. 

'  But,  alas  !  at  length  a  cloud  came  over  his  brow.  At  first 
it  w^as  but  a  changing  shadow ;  but  it  settled  into  a  dark  veil  of 
sorrow  which  obscured  all  his  virtues,  and  made  the  worthy 


CKINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  231 

senior  of  bis  room  sliake  bis  tbin  grey  locks  once  and  again. 
He  sbook  tbem  more  in  sorrow  tban  in  anger ;  for  be  knew 
tbat  Macassar  was  in  love,  and  be  remembered  tbe  days  of  bis 
youtb.  Yes;  Macassar  was  in  love.  He  bad  seen  the  lovely 
Crinoline.  To  see  was  to  admire ;  to  admire  was  to  love ;  to 
love — tbat  is,  to  love  her,  to  love  Crinoline,  the  exalted,  tbe 
sought-after,  tbe  one  so  much  in  demand,  as  he  had  once 
expressed  himself  to  one  of  bis  bosom  friends — to  love  her  was 
to  despair.  He  did  despair  ;  and  despairing  sighed,  and  sighing 
was  idle. 

'But  he  was  not  all  idle.  Tbe  genius  of  the  man  bad  tbat 
within  it  which  did  not  permit  itself  to  evaporate  in  mere  sighs. 
Sighs,  with  tbe  high-minded,  force  themselves  into  tbe  guise  of 
poetry,  and  so  it  had  been  with  him.  He  got  leave  of  absence 
for  a  week,  and  shut  himself  up  alone  in  his  lodgings  ;  for  a 
week  in  his  lodgings,  during  the  long  evenings  of  winter,  did  he 
remain  unseen  and  unheard  of.  His  landlady  thought  tbat  he 
was  in  debt,  and  bis  friends  whispered  abroad  tbat  he  bad 
caught  scarlatina.  But  at  the  end  of  tbe  seven  days  he  came 
forth,  pale  indeed,  but  with  his  countenance  lighted  up  by 
ecstatic  fire,  and  as  he  started  for  bis  office,  he  carefully  folded 
and  put  into  his  pocket  tbe  elegantly  written  poem  on  which  be 
had  been  so  intently  engaged.' 

"  I'm  so  glad  we  are  to  have  more  poetry,"  said  Katie.  "  Is 
it  another  song  ?" 

"  You'll  see,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

'  Macassar  bad  many  bosom  friends  at  bis  office,  to  all  of 
whom,  one  by  one,  be  had  confided  the  tale  of  his  love.  For  a 
while  he  doubted  to  which  of  them  be  should  confide  the  secret 
of  his  inspiration  ;  but  genius  will  not  hide  its  head  under  a 
bushel;  and  thus,  before  long,  did  Macassar's  song  become  tbe 
common  property  of  the  Episcopal  Audit  Board.  Even  tbe 
Bishops  sang  it,  so  Macassar  was  assured  by  one  of  his  brother 
clerks  who  was  made  of  a  coarser  clay  than  his  colleague—  even 
the  Bishops  sang  it  when  they  met  in  council  together  on  their 
own  peculiar  bench. 

'  It  would  be  useless  to  give  tbe  whole  of  it  here ;  for  it  con- 
tained ten  verses.  Tbe  last  two  w^ere  those  which  Macassar  was 
wont  to  sing  to  himself,  as  he  wandered  lonely  under  the  elms 
of  Kensington  Gardens. 

"  Oh,  how  she  walks, 
And  how  she  talks, 
And  sings  like  a  bird  serene ; 


232  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

But  of  this  be  sure, 
While  the  world  shall  endure, 
-    ;^  The  loveliest  lady  that'll  ever  be  seen 

Will  still  be  the  Lady  Crinoline, 
The  lovely  Lady  Crinolme. 

"  With  her  hair  done  all  d  Vimperatrice, 

Sweetly  done  with  the  best  of  grease, 
She  looks  like  a  Goddess  or  Queen,— 

And  so  I  declare. 

And  solemnly  swear, 
That  the  loveliest  lady  that  ever  was  seen 
Is  still  the  Lady  Crinoline, 
The  lovely  Lady  Crinoline." 

"  And  so  ends  the  third  chapter,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward, 
Both  Katie  and  Linda  were  beginning  to  criticise,  but  Mrs. 
Woodward  repressed  them  sternly,  and  went  on  with 

'chapter  IV. 

'  It  was  a  lovely  day  towards  the  end  of  May  that  Macassar 
Jones,  presenting  himself  before  the  desk  of  the  senior  clerk  at 
one  o'clock,  begged  for  permission  to  be  absent  for  two  hours. 
The  request  was  preferred  with  meek  and  hesitating  voice,  and 
with  downcast  eyes. 

'  The  senior  clerk  shook  his  grey  locks  sadly !  sadly  he  shook 
his  thin  grey  locks,  for  he  grieved  at  the  sight  which  he  saw. 
'Twas  sad  to  see  the  energies  of  this  young  man  thus  sapped  in 
his  early  youth  by  the  all-absorbing  strength  of  a  hopeless 
passion.  Crinoline  was  now,  as  it  were,  a  household  word  at 
the  Episcopal  Audit  Board.  The  senior  clerk  believed  her  to 
be  cruel,  and  as  he  knew  for  what  object  these  two  hours  of 
idleness  were  requested,  he  shook  his  thin  grey  locks  in  sorrow. 

'  "  I'll  be  back  at  three,  sir,  punctual,"  said  Macassar. 

' "  But,  Mr.  Jones,  you  are  absent  nearly  every  day  for  the 
same  period." 

' "  To-day  shall  be  the  last ;  to-day  shall  end  it  all,"  said 
Macassar,  with  a  look  of  wretched  desperation. 

*  "  What — what  would  Sir  Gregory  say  ?"  said  the  senior 
clerk. 

'  Macassar  Jones  sighed  deeply.  Nature  had  not  made  the 
senior  clerk  a  cruel  man  ;  but  yet  this  allusion  ivas  cruel.  The 
young  Macassar  had  drunk  deeply  of  the  w^aters  that  welled 
from  the  fountain  of  Sir  Gregory's  philosophy.  He  had  been 
proud  to  sit  humbly  at  the  feet  of  such  a  Gamaliel ;  and  now  it 


CRINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  233 

rent  his  yomig  heart  to  be  thus  twitted  with  the  displeasure  of 
the  great  master  whom  he  so  loved  and  so  admired. 

' "  Well,  go,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  the  senior  clerk,  "  go,  but  as 
jou  go,  resolve  that  to-morrow  you  will  remain  at  your  desk. 
Now  go,  and  may  prosperity  attend  you  !" 

'"AH  shall  be  decided  to-day,"  said  Macassar,  and  as  he 
spoke  an  unusual  spark  gleamed  in  his  eye.  He  went,  and 
as  he  went  the  senior  clerk  shook  his  thin  grey  hairs.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  and  he  distrusted  the  charms  of  the  sex. 

'  Macassar,  returning  to  his  desk,  took  up  his  hat  and  his 
umbrella,  and  went  forth.  His  indeed  was  a  plight  at  w^hich 
that  old  senior  clerk  might  well  shake  his  thin  grey  hairs  in 
sorrow,  for  Macassar  was  the  victim  of  mysterious  circum- 
stances, which,  from  his  youth  upwards,  had  marked  him  out 
for  a  fate  of  no  ordinary  nature.  The  tale  must  now  be 
told.' 

"  0  dear  !"  said  Linda  ;  "  is  it  something  horrid  ?" 

"  I  hope  it  is,"  said  Katie  ;  "  perhaps  he's  already  married  to 
some  old  hag  or  witch." 

"  You  don't  say  who  his  father  and  mother  are ;  but  I  suppose 
he'll  turn  out  to  be  somebody  else's  son,"  said  Linda. 

"  He's  a  very  nice  young  man  for  a  small  tea  party,  at  any 
rate,"  said  Uncle  Bat. 

'The  tale  must  now  be  told,'  continued  Mrs.  Woodward. 
'  In  his  early  years  Macassar  Jones  had  had  a  maiden  aunt. 
This  lady  died ' 

"  Oh,  mamma,  if  you  read  it  in  that  way  I  shall  certainly 
cry,"  said  Katie. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  if  your  heart  is  so  susceptible  you  had  better 
indulge  it "     '  This  lady  died  and  left  behind  her ^ 

"  What  ?"  said  Linda. 

"  A  diamond  ring  ?"  said  Katie. 

"  A  sealed  manuscript,  which  was  found  in  a  secret  drawer  ?" 
suggested  Linda. 

"  Perhaps  a  baby,"  said  Uncle  Bat. 

*  And  left  behind  her  a  will ' 

"  Did  she  leave  anything  else  ?"  asked  Norman. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  if  I  am  to  be  interrupted  in  this  way, 
I  really  must  resign  my  task,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward ;  "  we 
shall  never  get  to  bed." 

"  I  w^on't  say  another  w^ord,"  said  Katie. 

'In  his  early  years  Macassar  had  had  a  maiden  aunt.  This 
lady  died   and  left  behind  her  a  will,  in  which,  with   many 


234  THE   THREE  CLERKS. 

expressions  of  the  warmest  affection  and  fullest  confidence,  she 
left  3000Z.  in  the  three  per  cents ' 

"  What  are  the  three  per  cents  ?"  said  Katie. 

"The  three  per  cents  is  a  way  in  which  people  get  some  of 
their  money  to  spend  regularly,  when  they  have  got  a  large 
sum  locked  up  somewhere,"  said  Linda. 

"Oh!"  said. Katie. 

"Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  miss?"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

'  Left  3,000?.  in  the  three  per  cents  to  her  nephew.  But  she 
left  it  on  these  conditions,  that  he  should  be  married  before  he 
was  twenty-five,  and  that  he  should  have  a  child  lawfully  born 
in  the  bonds  of  wedlock  before  he  was  twenty-six.  And  then 
the  will  went  on  to  state  that  the  interest  of  the  money  should 
accumulate  till  Macassar  had  attained  the  latter  age ;  and  that 
in  the  event  of  his  having  failed  to  comply  with  the  conditions 
and  stipulations  above  named,  the  whole  money,  principal  and 
interest,  should  be  set  aside,  and  by  no  means  given  up  to  the 
said  Macassar,  but  applied  to  the  uses,  purposes,  and  convenience 
of  that  excellent  charitable  institution,  denominated  the  Princess 
Charlotte's  Lying-in  Hospital. 

'  Now  the  nature  of  this  will  had  been  told  in  confidence  by 
Macassar  to  some  of  his  brother  clerks,  and  was  consequently 
well  known  at  the  Episcopal  Audit  Board.  It  had  given  rise 
there  to  a  spirit  of  speculation  against  which  the  senior  clerk 
had  protested  in  vain.  Bets  were  made,  some  in  favor  of 
Macassar,  and  some  in  that  of  the  hospital ;  but  of  late  the 
odds  were  going  much  against  our  hero.  It  was  well  known 
that  in  three  short  months  he  would  attain  that  disastrous  age, 
which,  if  it  found  him  a  bachelor,  would  find  him  also  denuded 
of  his  legacy.  And  then  how  short  a  margin  remained  for  the 
second  event !  The  odds  were  daily  rising  against  Macassar, 
and  as  he  heard  the  bets  offered  and  taken  at  the  surrounding 
desks,  his  heart  quailed  within  him. 

'  And  the  lovely  Crinoline,  she  also  had  heard  of  this  eccen- 
tric will ;  she  and  her  mother.  3,000/.  with  interest  arising 
for  some  half  score  of  years  would  make  a  settlement  by  no 
means  despicable  in  Tavistock  Square,  and  would  enable  Macas- 
sar to  maintain  a  house  over  which  even  Crinoline  need  not  be 
ashamed  to  preside.  But  what  if  the  legacy  should  be  lost ! 
She  also  knew  to  a  day  what  was  the  age  of  her  swain ;  she 
knew  how  close  upon  her  was  that  day,  which,  if  she  passed  it 
unwedded,  would  see  her  resolved  to  be  deaf  for  ever  to  the 
vows  of  Macassar.  Still,  if  she  managed  well,  there  might  be 
time — at  any  rate  for  the  marriage. 


CEINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  235 

'But,  alas!  Macassar  made  no  vows;  none  at  least  wbich 
the  most  attentive  ear  could  consider  to  be  audible.  Crinoline's 
ear  was  attentive,  but  hitherto  in  vain.  He  would  come  there 
daily  to  Tavistock  Square ;  daily  would  that  true  and  valiant 
page  lay  open  the  path  to  his  mistress's  feet;  daily  would 
Macassar  sit  there  for  a  while  and  sigh.  But  the  envious  hour 
would  pass  away,  while  the  wished-for  word  was  still  unsaid ; 
and  he  would  hurry  back,  and  complete  with  figures,  too  often 
erroneous,  the  audit  of  some  diocesan  balance. 

' "  You  must  help  him,  my  dear,"  said  Crinoline's  mamma. 

' "  But  he  says  nothing,  mamma,"  said  Crinoline  in  tears. 

*  "  You  must  encourage  him  to  speak,  my  dear." 

'  "  I  do  encourage  him  ;  but  by  that  time  it  is  always  three 
o'clock,  and  then  he  has  to  go  away." 

' "  You  should  be  quicker,  my  dear.  You  should  encourage 
him  more  at  once.  Now  try  to-day ;  if  you  can't  do  anything 
to-day  I  really  must  get  your  papa  to  interfere." 

'  Crinoline  had  ever  been  an  obedient  child,  and  now,  as  ever, 
she  determined  to  obey.  But  it  was  a  hard  task  for  her.  In 
three  months  he  would  be  twenty-five — in  fifteen  months  twenty- 
six.  She,  however,  would  do  her  best ;  and  then,  if  her  efforts 
were  unavailing,  she  could  only  trust  to  Providence  and  her  papa. 

'  With  sad  and  anxious  heart  did  Macassar  that  day  take  up 
his  new  silk  hat,  take  up  also  his  darling  umbrella,  and  descend 
the  sombre  steps  of  the  Episcopal  Audit  Office.  "  Seven  to  one 
on  the  Lying-in,"  were  the  last  words  which  reached  his  ears  as 
the  door  of  his  room  closed  behind  him.  His  was  a  dreadful 
position.  What  if  that  sweet  girl,  that  angel  whom  he  so 
worshipped,  what  if  she,  melted  by  his  tale  of  sorrow — that  is, 
if  he  could  prevail  on  himself  to  tell  it — should  take  pity,  and 
consent  to  be  hurried  prematurely  to  the  altar  of  Hymen ;  and 
then  if,  after  all,  the  legacy  should  be  forfeited !  Poverty  for 
himself  he  could  endure ;  at  least  he  thought  so ;  but  poverty 
for  her!  could  he  bear  that?  What  if  he  should  live  to  see 
her  deprived  of  that  green  head-dress,  robbed  of  those  copious 
draperies,  reduced  to  English  shoes,  compelled  to  desert  that 
shrine  in  Hanover  Square,  and  all  through  him  !  His  brain 
reeled  round,  his  head  swam,  his  temples  throbbed,  his  knees 
knocked  against  each  other,  his  blood  stagnated,  his  heart 
collapsed,  a  cold  clammy  perspiration  covered  him  from  head  to 
foot;  he  could  hardly  reach  the  courtyard,  and  there  obtain  the 
support  of  a  pillar.  Dreadful  thoughts  filled  his  mind ;  the 
Thames,  the  friendly  Thames  was  running  close  to  him  ;  should 


236  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

he  not  put  a  speedy  end  to  all  his  misery  ?  Those  horrid  words, 
that  "seven  to  one  on  the  Lying-in,"  still  rang  in  his  ears;  were 
the  chances  really  seven  to  one  against  his  getting  his  legacy  ? 
"  Oh  !  "  said  he,  "  my  aunt,  my  aunt,  my  aunt,  my  aunt,  my 
aunt !  " 

'  But  at  last  he  roused  the  spirit  of  the  man  wdthin  him. 
"  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,"  seemed  to  be  whispered  to 
him  from  every  stone  in  Somerset  House.  The  cool  air  blowing 
through  the  passages  revived  him,  and  he  walked  forth  through 
the  wide  portals,  resolving  that  he  would  return  a  happy,  thriv- 
ing lover,  or  that  he  would  return  no  more — that  night.  What 
would  he  care  for  Sir  Gregory,  what  for  the  thin  locks  of  the 
senior  clerk,  if  Crinoline  should  reject  him  ? 

'  It  was  his  custom,  as  he  walked  towards  Tavistock  Square, 
to  stop  at  a  friendly  pastry-cook's  in  Covent  Garden,  and  revive 
his  spirits  for  the  coming  interview  with  Banbuiy  tarts  and 
cherry -brandy.  In  the  moments  of  his  misery  something  about 
the  pastry-cook's  girl,  something  that  reminded  him  of  Crinoline, 
it  was  probably  her  nose,  had  tempted  him  to  confide  to  her  his 
love.  He  had  told  her  everything ;  the  kind  young  creature 
pitied  him,  and  as  she  ministered  to  his  wants,  was  wont  to  ask 
sweetly  as  to  his  passion. 

'  "And  how  was  the  lovely  Lady  Crinoline  yesterday  ?"  asked 
she.     He  had  intrusted  to  her  a  copy  of  his  poem. 

' "  More  beauteous  than  ever,"  he  said,  but  somewhat  indis- 
tinctly, for  his  mouth  was  clogged  with  the  Banbury  tart. 

'  "And  good-natured,  I  hope.  Indeed,  I  don't  know  how  she 
can  resist,"  said  the  girl ;  "  I'm  sure  you'll  make  it  all  right  to- 
day, for  I  see  you've  got  your  winning  way  with  you." 

'  Winning  way,  with  seven  to  one  against  him  !  Macassar 
sighed,  and  spilt  some  of  his  cherry-brandy  over  his  shirt  front. 
The  kind-hearted  girl  came  and  wiped  it  for  him.  "  I  think  I'll 
have  another  glass,"  said  he,  with  a  deep  voice.  He  did  take 
another  glass,  and  also  ate  another  tart. 

'  "  He'll  pop  to-day,  as  sure  as  eggs,  now  he's  taken  them  two 
glasses  of  popping  powder,"  said  the  girl,  as  he  went  out  of  the 
shop.  "  Well,  it's  astonishing  to  me  what  the  men  find  to  be 
afraid  of." 

'  And  so  Macassar  hastened  towards  Tavistock  Square,  all  too 
quickly  ;  for,  as  he  made  his  way  across  Great  Russell  Street,  he 
found  that  he  was  very  hot.  He  leant  against  the  rail,  and  tak- 
ing off  his  hat  and  gloves,  began  to  cool  himself,  and  wipe  away 
the  dust  with  his  pocket-handkerchief.    "  I  wouldn't  have  minded 


CKINOLINE   AND    MACASSAK.  237 

the  expense  of  a  cab,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  only  the  chances  are 
so  much  against  me :  seven  to  one !" 

'  But  he  had  no  time  to  lose.  He  had  but  two  precious  hours 
at  his  disposal,  and  thirty  minutes  were  already  gone.  He  hur- 
ried on  to  Tavistock  Square,  and  soon  found  that  well-known 
door  open  before  him. 

'  "  The  Lady  Crinoline  sits  up  stairs  alone,"  said  the  page,  "  and 
is  a-thinking  of  you."  Then  he  added,  in  a  whisper,  "  Do  you  go 
at  her  straight,  Mr.  Macassar ;  slip-slap,  and  no  mistake  !" 

*  All  honor  to  the  true  and  brave  ! 


*  As  Macassar  walked  across  the  drawing-room,  Crinoline  failed 
to  perceive  his  presence,  although  his  boots  did  creak  rather 
loudly.  Such  at  least  must  be  presumed  to  have  been  the  case, 
for  she  made  no  immediate  sign  of  having  noticed  him.  She 
was  sitting  at  the  open  window,  with  her  lute  in  hand,  gazing 
into  the  vacancy  of  the  square  below  ;  and  as  Macassar  walked 
across  the  room,  a  deep  sighed  escaped  from  her  bosom.  The 
page  closed  the  door,  and  at  the  same  moment  Crinoline  touched 
her  lute,  or  rather  pulled  it  at  the  top  and  bottom,  and  threw 
one  wild  witch  note  to  the  wind.  As  she  did  so,  a  line  of  a  song- 
escaped  from  her  lips,  with  a  low,  melancholy,  but  still  raptur- 
ous cadence — 

•  "His  heart  is  at  his  office,  Ms  heart  is  always  there." 

* "  Oh,  Mr.  Macassar,  is  that  you  ?"  she  exclaimed.  She  strug- 
gled to  rise,  but  finding  herself  unequal  to  the  effort,  she  sank 
back  again  on  a  chair,  dropped  her  lute  on  a  soft  footstool,  and 
then  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  It  was  dreadful  for  Macassar 
to  witness  such  agony. 

' "  Is  anything  the  matter  ?"  said  he. 

' "  The  matter  !"  said  she.     "  Ah  I  ah  !" 

* "  I  hope  you  are  not  sick  ?"  said  he. 
"  Sick  !"  said  she.     "  Well,  I  fear  I  am  very  sick." 

' "  AVhat  is  it  ?"  said  he.  "  Perhaps  only  bilious,"  he 
suggested. 

*"0h!  oh!  ohl"  said  she. 

*  "  I  see  I'm  in  the  way  ;  and  I  think  I  had  better  go,"  and  so 
he  prepared  to  depart. 

' "  No !  no  !  no  !"  said  she,  jumping  up  from  her  chair.  "  Oh  ! 
Mr.  Macassar,  don't  be  so  cruel.  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  sink 
on  the  carpet  before  your  feet  ?" 


238  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

'  Macassar  denied  the  existence  of  any  such  wish  ;  and  said 
that  he  humbly  begged  her  pardon  if  he  gave  any  offence. 

'  "  Offence  !"  said  she,  smihng  sweetly  on  him  ;  sweetly,  but 
yet  sadly.  "  Offence  !  no — no  offence.  Indeed,  I  don't  know 
how  you  could — but  never  mind — I  am  such  a  silly  thing. 
One's  feelings  will  sometimes  get  the  better  of  one  ;  don't  you 
often  find  it  so  ?" 

'  "  O  yes  !  quite  so,"  said  Macassar.     "  I  think  it's  the  heat." 

*  "  He's  a  downright  noodle,"  said  Crinoline's  mamma  to  her 
sister-in-law,  who  lived  w^ilh  them.  The  tw^o  were  standing 
behind  a  chink  in  the  door,  which  separated  the  drawing-room 
from  a  chamber  behind  it. 

'  "  AVon't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Macassar."  Macassar  sat  down. 
"  Mamma  will  be  so  sorry  to  miss  you  again.  She's  calling 
somewhere  in  Grosvenor  Square,  I  believe.  She  wanted  me  to 
go  with  her ;  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  go  with  her  to- 
day. It's  useless  for  the  body  to  go  out,  when  the  heart  still 
remains  at  home.     Don't  you  find  it  so  ?" 

' "  Oh,  quite  so,"  said  Macassar.  The  cherry-brandy  had 
already  evaporated  before  the  blaze  of  all  that  beauty,  and  he 
was  bethinking  himself  how  he  might  best  take  himself  off. 
Let  the  hospital  have  the  filthy  lucre  !  He  would  let  the  money 
go,  and  would  show  the  w^orld  that  he  loved  for  the  sake  of  love 
alone !  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  found  that  it  was  already 
past  two. 

'Crinoline,  when  she  saw  that  watch,  knew  that  something- 
must  be  done  at  once.  She  appreciated  more  fully  than 
her  lover  did,  the  value  of  this  world's  goods;  and  much  as  she 
doubtless  sympathised  with  the  wants  of  the  hospital  in  question, 
she  felt  that  charity  should  begin  at  home.  So  she  fairly  burst 
out  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

'  Macassar  was  quite  beside  himself.  He  had  seen  her  weep 
before,  but  never  with  such  frightful  violence.  She  rushed  up 
from  her  chair,  and  passing  so  close  to  him  as  nearly  to  upset  him 
by  the  waft  of  her  petticoats,  threw  herself  on  to  an  ottoman, 
and  hiding  her  face  on  the  stump  in  the  middle  of  it,  sobbed 
and  screeched,  till  Macassar  feared  that  the  buttons  behind  her 
dress  would  crack  and  fly  off*. 

'"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  sobbed  Crinoline. 

'  "  It  must  be  the  heat,"  said  Macassar,  knocking  down  a 
flower-pot  in  his  attempt  to  open  the  window  a  little  wider. 
"  O  dear,  what  have  I  done !"  said  he.  "  I  think  I'd  better 
go." 


CRINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  2^39 

* "  Never  mind  the  liower-pot,"  said  Crinoline,  looking  np 
tlirough  her  tears.     "  Oh  !  oh !  oh  !  oh  !  me.     Oh  !  my  heart." 

'  Macassar  looked  at  his  watch.  He  had  only  forty-five 
minutes  left  for  everything.  The  expense  of  a  cab  would,  to  be 
sure,  be  nothing  if  he  were  successful ;  but  then,  what  chance 
was  there  of  that  ? 

' ''  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  in  the  Strand  ?"  said  he.  "  I 
must  be  at  my  office  at  three." 

'  "  In  the  Strand  !"  she  screeched.  "  What  could  he  do  for 
me  in  the  Strand  ?  Heartless — heartless — heartless  !  Well, 
go — go — go  to  your  office,  Mr.  Macassar  ;  your  heart  is  there,  I 
know.  It  is  always  there.  Go — don't  let  me  stand  between 
you  and  your  duties — between  you  and  Sir  Gregory.  Oh  !  how 
I  hate  that  man!  Go  !  why  should  I  wish  to  prevent  you  ?  Of 
course  I  have  no  such  wish.  To  me  it  is  quite  indifferent ;  only, 
mamma  will  be  so  sorry  to  miss  you.  You  don't  know  how 
mamma  loves  you.  She  loves  you  almost  as  a  son.  But  go — 
go;  pray  go!" 

'  And  then  Crinoline  looked  at  him.  Oh  !  how  she  looked 
at  him !  It  was  as  though  all  the  goddesses  of  heaven  were 
inviting  him  to  come  and  eat  ambrosia  with  them  on  a  rosy- 
tinted  cloud.  All  the  goddesses,  did  we  say?  No,  but  one 
goddess,  the  most  beautiful  of  them  all.  His  heart  beat  violently 
against  his  ribs,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  almost  man  enough  for 
anything.  Instinctively  his  hand  went  again  to  his  waistcoat 
pocket. 

* "  You  shan't  look  at  your  watch  so  often,"  said  she,  putting 
up  her  delicate  hand  and  stopping  his.  "  There,  I'll  look  at  it  for 
you.  It's  only  just  two,  and  you  needn't  go  to  your^  office  for 
this  hour ;"  and  as  she  squeezed  it  back  into  his  pocket,  he  felt 
her  fingers  pressing  against  his  heart,  and  felt  her  hair — done 
all  a  Vimjyeratrice — in  sweet  contact  with  his  cheek.  "  There,  I 
shall  hold  it  there,"  said  she,  "  so  that  you  shan't  look  at  it  again." 

* "  Will  you  stay  till  I  bid  you  go  ?"  said  Crinoline. 

'  Macassar  declared  that  he  did  not  care  a  straw  for  the 
senior  clerk,  or  for  Sir  Gregory  either.  He  v/ould  stay  there 
for  ever,  he  said. 

'  "  What !  for  ever  in  mamma's  drawing-room  ?"  said  Crino- 
line, opening  wide  her  lovely  eyes  with  surprise. 

*  "  For  ever  near  to  you,"  said  Macassar. 

*  "Oh,  Mr.  Macassar,'  said  Crinoline,  dropping  her  hand  from 
his  waistcoat,  and  looking  bashfully  towards  the  ground,  "  what 
can  you  mean  ?" 


240  THE   THEEE   CLEEKS. 

'  Down  went  Macassar  on  his  knees,  and  down  went  Crino- 
line into  her  chair.  There  was  perhaps  rather  too  much  dis- 
tance between  them,  but  that  did  not  much  matter  now. 
There  he  was  on  both  knees,  with  his  hands  clasped  together 
as  they  were  wont  to  be  when  he  said  his  prayers,  with  his 
umbrella  beside  him  on  one  side,  and  his  hat  on  the  other, 
making  his  declaration  in  full  and  unmistakable  terms.  A  yard 
or  two  of  floor,  more  or  less,  between  them,  was  neither  here 
nor  there.  At  first  the  bashful  Crinoline  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  utter  a  distinct  consent,  and  Macassar  was  very  nearly 
up  and  away,  in  a  returning  fit  of  despair.  But  her  good-nature 
came  to  his  aid ;  and  as  she  quickly  said,  "  I  will,  I  will,  I  will," 
he  returned  to  his  posture  in  somewhat  nearer  quarters,  and 
was  transported  into  the  seventh  heaven  by  the  bliss  of  kissing 
her  hand. 

'  "  Oh,  Macassar !"  said  she. 

'  "  Oh,  Crinoline  !"  said  he. 

'  "  You  must  come  and  tell  papa  to-morrow,"  said  she. 

'  He  readily  promised  to  do  so. 

'  "  You  had  better  come  to  breakfast ;  before  he  goes  into  the 
city,"  said  she. 

^  And  so  the  matter  was  arranged,  and  the  lovely  Lady  Cri- 
noline became  the  afiianced  bride  of  the  happy  Macassar. 

*  It  was  past  three  when  he  left  the  house,  but  what  did  he 
care  for  that?  He  was  so  mad  with  joy  that  he  did  not  even 
know  whither  he  was  going.  He  went  on  straight  ahead,  and 
came  to  no  check,  till  he  found  himself  waving  his  hat  over  his 
head  in  the  New  Road.  He  then  began  to  conceive  that  his 
conduct  must  have  been  rather  wild,  for  he  was  brought  to  a 
stand-still  in  a  crossing  by  four  or  five  cabmen,  who  were  rival 
candidates  for  his  custom. 

'  "  Somerset  House,  old  brick !"  he  shouted  out  as  he  jumped 
into  a  Hansom,  and  as  he  did  so  he  poked  one  of  the  other 
cabbies  playfully  in  the  ribs  with  his  umbrella. 

'  "  'Is  mamma  don't  know  as  'ow  'e's  hout,  I  shouldn't  vonder," 
said  the  cabman — and  away  went  Macassar  singing  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  as  he  sat  in  the  cab — 

"  The  loveliest  lady  that  ever  was  seen 
Is  the  lovely  Lady  Crinohne." 

'  The  cab  passed  through  Covent  Garden  on  its  way.  "  Stop 
at  the  pastry-cook's  at  the  corner,"  said  Macassar  up  through 
the  little  trap-door.    The  cab  drew  up  suddenly.    "She's  mine! 


CRINOLINE   AND    MACASSAR.  241 

slie's  mine !"  shouted  Macassar,  rusliing  into  the  shop,  and  dis- 
regarding in  the  ecstasy  of  the  moment  the  various  customers 
■who  were  quietly  eating  their  ices.     "  She's  mine,  she's  mine  ! 

*  With  her  hair  done  all  a  Vimperairice, 
Sweetly  done  with  the  best  of  grease.' 

And  now  for  Somerset  House." 

*  Arrived  at  those  ancient  portals,  he  recklessly  threw 
eighteenpence  to  the  cabman,  and  ran  up  the  stone  stairs  which 
led  to  his  office.  As  he  did  so  the  clock,  with  iron  tongue, 
tolled  four.  But  what  recked  he  what  it  tolled  ?  He  rushed 
into  his  room,  where  his  colleagues  were  now  locking  their 
desks,  and  waving  abroad  his  hat  and  his  umbrella,  repeated 
the  chorus  of  his  song.     "  She's  mine,  she's  mine, — 

*  T]ie  loveliest  lady  that  ever  was  seen 
Is  the  lovely  Lady  Crinoline;'  <♦ 

and  she's  mine,  she  is  mine  !" 

'Exhausted  nature  could  do  no  more.  He  sank  into  a 
chair,  and  his  brother  clerks  stood  in  a  circle  around  him. 
Soon  a  spirit  of  triumph  seemed  to  actuate  them  all;  they 
joined  hands  in  that  friendly  circle,  and  dancing  with  joyful 
glee,  took  up  with  one  voice  the  burden  of  the  song — 

"  Oh,  how  she  walks, 

And  how  she  talks, 
And  sings  like  a  bird  serene ; 

But  of  this  be  sure, 

While  the  world  shall  endure, 
The  loveliest  lady  that  ever  was  seen 

Is  still  the  Lady  Crinoline — 

The  lovely  Lady  Crinoluie." 

'  And  that  old  senior  clerk  with  the  thin  grey  hair, — was 
he  angry  at  this  general  ebullition  of  joy  ?  O  no  !  The  just 
severity  of  his  discipline  was  always  tempered  with  genial 
mercy.  Not  a  word  did  he  say  of  that  broken  promise,  not  a 
word  of  the  unchecked  diocesan  balance,  not  a  word  of  Sir 
Gregory's  anger.  He  shook  his  thin  grey  locks  ;  but  he  shook 
them  neither  in  sorrow  nor  in  anger.  "  God  bless  you,  Macassar 
Jones,"  said  he,  "  God  bless  you !" 

'  He  too  had  once  been  young,  and  once  loved,  had  once 
hoped  and  feared,  and  hoped  again,  and  had  once  knelt  at  the 
feet  of  beauty.     But  alas  !  he  had  knelt  in  vain. 

"  May  God  be  with  you.  Macassar  Jones,"    said  he,  as  he 

11 


242  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

walked  out  of  the  office  door  with  his  colored  bandana  pressed 
to  his  eyes.  "  May  God  be  with  you,  and  make  your  bed 
fruitful !" 

"  For  the  loveliest  lady  that  ever  was  seen 
Is  the  lovely  Lady  Crinoline," 

shouted  the  junior  clerks,  still  dancing  in  mad  glee  round  the 
happy  lover. 

'  We  have  said  that  they  all  joined  in  this  kindly  congratu- 
lation to  their  young  friend.  But  no.  There  was  one  spirit 
there  whom  envy  had  soured,  one  whom  the  happiness  of 
another  had  made  miserable,  one  whose  heart  beat  in  no  unison 
with  these  jocund  sounds.  As  Macassar's  joy  was  at  its  height, 
in  the  proud  moment  of  his  triumph,  a  hated  voice  struck  his 
oars,  and  filled  his  soul  with  dismay  once  more. 

"  There's  two  to  one  still  on  the  Lying-in,"  said  this  hateful 
Tjucifer. 

'  And  so  Macassar  was  not  all  happy  even  yet,  as  he  walked 
home  to  his  lodgings. 

'chapter    VI. 

"We  have  but  one  other  scene  to  record,  but  one  short 
scene,  and  then  our  tale  will  be  told  and  our  task  will  be  done. 
And  this  last  scene  shall  not,  after  the  usual  manner  of  novel- 
ists, be  that  of  the  wedding,  but  rather  one  which  in  our  eyes 
is  of  a  much  more  enduring  interest.  Crinoline  and  Macassar 
were  duly  married  in  Bloomsbury  Church.  The  dresses  are 
said  to  have  come  from  the  house  in  Hanover  Square.  Crino- 
line behaved  herself  with  perfect  propriety,  and  Macassar  went 
through  his  work  like  a  man.  When  we  have  said  that,  we 
have  said  all  that  need  be  said  on  that  subject. 

'  But  we  must  beg  our  readers  to  pass  over  the  space  of  the 
next  twelve  months,  and  to  be  present  with  us  in  that  front 
sitting-room  of  the  elegant  private  lodgings,  which  the  married 
couple  now  prudently  occupied  in  Alfred  Place.  Lodgings ! 
yes,  they  were  only  lodgings ;  for  not  as  yet  did  they  know 
what  might  be  the  extent  of  their  income. 

'  In  this  room  during  the  whole  of  a  long  autumn  day  sat 
Macassar  in  a  frame  of  mind  not  altogether  to  be  envied.  Dur- 
ing the  greater  portion  of  it  he  was  alone  ;  but  ever  and  ahon 
some  bustling  woman  would  enter  and  depart  without  even 
deigning  to  notice  the  questions  which  he  asked.  And  then 
after   a   while   he   found    himself    in    company   with    a   very 


CRINOLINE   AND   MACASSAR.  243 

respectable  gentleman  iu  black,  who  belonged  to  the  medical 
profession. 

* "  Is  it  coming  ?"  asked  Macassar.     "  Is  it,  is  it  coming  ?" 

* "  Well,  we  hope  so — we  hope  so,"  said  the  medical  gentle- 
man. "  If  not  to-day,  it  will  be  to-morrow.  If  I  should  happen 
to  be  absent,  Mrs.  Gamp  is  all  that  you  could  desire.  If  not  to- 
day, it  will  certainly  be  to-morrow," — and  so  the  medical  gentle- 
man went  his  way. 

'Now  the  coming  morrow  would  be  Macassar's  birthday. 
On  that  morrow  he  would  be  twenty-six. 

'  All  alone  he  sat  there,  till  the  autumn  sun  gave  way  to  the 
shades  of  evening.  Some  one  brought  him  a  mutton  chop,  but 
it  was  raw  and  he  could  not  eat ;  he  went  to  the  sideboard  and 
prepared  to  make  himself  a  glass  of  negus,  but  the  water  was 
all  cold.  His  w^ater  at  least  was  cold,  though  Mrs.  Gamp's  was 
hot  enough.  It  was  a  sad  and  mournful  evening.  He  thought 
he  would  go  out,  for  he  found  that  he  was  not  wanted ;  but  a 
low  drizzling  rain  prevented  him.  Had  he  got  wet  he  could 
not  have  changed  his  clothes,  for  they  were  all  in  the  wardrobe 
in  his  wife's  room.  All  alone  he  sat  till  the  shades  of  evening- 
were  hidden  by  the  veil  of  night. 

"  But  what  sudden  noise  is  that  he  hears  within  the  house  ? 
Why  do  those  heavy  steps  press  so  rapidly  against  the  stairs  ? 
What  feet  are  they  w^hich  are  so  busy  in  the  room  above  him  ? 
He  opens  the  sitting-room  door,  but  he  can  see  nothing.  He 
has  been  left  there  without  a  candle.  He  peers  up  the  stairs, 
but  a  faint  glimmer  of  light  shining  through  the  keyhole  of  his 
wife's  door  is  all  that  meets  his  eye.  "  Oh  my  aunt !  my  aunt  1" 
he  says  as  he  leans  against  the  banisters.  "  My  aunt,  my  aunt, 
my  aunt." 

*  What  a  birthday  wnll  this  be  for  him  on  the  morrow  !  He 
already  hears  the  sound  of  the  hospital  bells  as  they  ring  with 
joy  at  the  acquisition  of  their  new  wealth  ;  he  must  dash  from 
his  lips,  tear  from  his  heart,  banish  for  ever  from  his  eyes,  that 
vision  of  a  sweet  little  cottage  at  Brompton,  with  a  charming 
dressing-room  for  himself,  and  gas  laid  on  all  over  the  house. 

'"Lodgings!  I  hate,  I  detest  lodgings!"  he  said  to  himself. 
"Connubial  bliss  and  furnished  lodgings  are  not  compatible. 
My  aunt,  my  aunt,  for  what  misery  hast  thou  not  to  answer  ! 
Oh,  Mrs.  Gamp,  could  you  be  so  obliging  as  to  tell  me  what 
o'clock  it  is  ?"  The  last  question  was  asked  as  Mrs.  Gamp  sud- 
denly entered  the  room  with  a  candle.  Macassar's  watch  had 
been  required  for  the  use  of  one  of  the  servants. 


244  THE   THEEE    CLEEKS. 

' "  It's  just  halfpast  heleven,  this  wery  moment  as  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Gamp ;  "  and  the  finest  boy  babby  as  my  he}'es,  which  has  seen  a 
many,  has  ever  sat  upon." 

'Up,  up  to  the  ceiling  went  the  horsehair  cushion  of  the 
lodging-house  sofa — up  went  the  foot-stool  after  it,  and  its  four 
wooden  legs  in  falling  made  a  terrible  clatter  on  the  mahogany 
loo-table.  Macassar  in  his  joy  got  hold  of  Mrs.  Gamp,  and 
kissed  her  heartily,  forgetful  of  the  fumes  of  gin,  "  Hurrah !" 
shouted  he,  "hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah !  Oh,  Mrs.  Gamp,  I  feel  so 
— so — so — I  really  don't  know  how  I  feel." 

'He  danced  round  the  room  with  noisy  joy,  till  Mrs.  Gamp 
made  him  understand  how  very  unsuited  were  such  riotous 
ebullitions  to  the  weak  state  of  his  lady-love  up  stairs.  He  then 
gave  over,  not  the  dancing  but  the  noise,  and  went  on  capering 
round  the  room  with  suppressed  steps,  ever  and  anon  singing  to 
himself  in  a  whisper, 

"  The  loveliest  lady  that  ever  was  seen 
Is  still  the  Lady  Crinoline," 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  a  knock  at  the  door  was  heard, 
and  the  monthly  nurse  entered.  She  held  something  in  her 
embrace;  but  he  could  not  see  what.  He  looked  down  pryingly 
into  her  amis,  and  at  the  first  glance  thought  that  it  was  his 
umbrella.  But  thetf  he  heard  a  little  pipe,  and  he  knew  that  it 
was  his  child. 

'  We  will  not  intrude  farther  on  the  first  interview  between 
Macassar  and  his  heir.' 


"And  so  ends  the  romantic  history  of  Crinoline  and  Macas- 
sar," said  Mrs.  Woodward  ;  "  and  I  am  sure,  Charley,  we  are 
all  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  excellent  moral  lessons  you 
have  given  us." 

"  I'm  so  delighted  with  it,"  said  Katie ;  "  I  do  so  like  that 
Macassar." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Linda,  yawning  ;  "  and  the  old  man  with  the 
thin  grey  hair." 

"  Come,  girls,  it's  nearly  one  o'clock,  and  we'll  go  to  bed,"  said 
the  mother.     "  Uncle  Bat  has  been  asleep  these  two  hours." 

And  so  they  went  ofi"  to  their  respective  chambers. 


SURBITON   COLLOQUIES.  245 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SURBITON    COLLOQUIES. 

All  further  conversation  in  the  drawing-room  was  forbidden 
for  that  night.  Mrs.  Woodward  would  have  willingly  postponed 
the  reading  of  Charley's  story  so  as  to  enable  Katie  to  go  to  bed 
after  the  accident,  had  she  been  able  to  do  so.  But  she  was 
not  able  to  do  so  w^ithout  an  exercise  of  a  species  of  authority 
which  was  distasteful  to  her,  and  which  was  very  seldom  heard, 
seen,  or  felt  within  the  limits  of  Surbiton  Cottage.  It  would 
moreover  have  been  very  ungracious  to  snub  Charley's  manu- 
script, just  when  Charley  had  made  himself  such  a  hero  ;  and 
she  had,  therefore,  been  obliged  to  read  it.  But  now  that  it 
was  done,  she  hurried  Katie  off  to  bed,  not  without  many 
admonitions. 

"  Good  night,"  she  said  to  Charley  ;  "  and  God  bless  you,  and 
make  you  always  as  happy  as  we  are  now.  What  a  household 
we  should  have  had  to-night,  had  it  not  been  for  you  !" 

Charley  rubbed  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  muttered 
something  about  there  not  having  been  the  slightest  danger 
in  the  world. 

"  And  remember,  Charley,"  she  said,  paying  no  attention  to 
his  mutterings,  "  w^e  always  liked  you — liked  you  very  much  ; 
but  liking  and  loving  are  very  different  things.  Now  you  are 
a  dear,  dear  friend — one  of  the  dearest." 

In  answer  to  this,  Charley  was  not  even  able  to  mutter ;  so 
he  went  his  way  to  the  inn,  and  lay  awake  half  the  night 
thinkino;  how  Katie  had  kissed  his  hand  ;  durina;  the  other  half 
he  dreamt,  first  that  Katie  was  drowned,  and  then  that  Norah 
was  his  bride. 

Linda  and  Katie  had  been  so  hurried  off,  that  they  had  only 
been  just  able  to  shake  hands  with  Harry  and  Charley.  There 
is,  however,  an  old  proverb,  that  though  one  man  may  lead  a 
horse  to  water,  a  thousand  cannot  make  him  drink.  It  was 
easy  to  send  Katie  to  bed,  but  very  difficult  to  prevent  her 
talking  v/hen  she  was  there. 

"  Oh,  Linda,"  she  said,  "  what  can  I  do  for  him?" 

"  Do  for  him  ?"  said  Linda ;  "  I  don't  know  that  you  can  do 
anything  for  him.  I  don't  suppose  he  wants  you  to  do  any- 
thing." Linda  still  looked  on  her  sister  as  a  child  ;  but  Katie 
was  beginning  to  put  away  childish  things. 


246  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"Couldn't  I  make  sometliing  for  him,  Linda — something  for 
him  to  keep  as  a  present,  you  know  ?  I  would  work  so  hard  to 
get  it  done." 

"  AYork  a  pair  of  slippers,  as  Crinoline  did,"  said  Linda. 

Katie  was  brushing  her  hair  at  the  moment,  and  then  she 
sat  still  with  the  brush  in  her  hand,  thinking.  "  No,"  said  she, 
after  a  while,  "  not  a  pair  of  slippers — I  shouldn't  like  a  pair  of 
slippers." 

"  AVhy  not,"  said  Linda. 

"  Oh — I  don't  know — but  I  shouldn't."  Katie  had  said  that 
Crinoline  was  working  slippers  for  Macassar  because  she  was  in 
love  with  him ;  and  having  said  so,  she  could  not  now  work 
slippers  for  Charley.  Poor  Katie !  she  was  no  longer  ^  child 
when  she  thought  thus. 

"  Then  make  him  a  purse,"  said  Linda. 

"  A  purse  is  such  a  little  thing." 

"  Then  work  him  the  cover  for  a  sofa,  like  what  mamma  and 
I  are  doing  for  Gertrude." 

"  But  he  hasn't  got  a  house,"  said  Katie. 

"  He'll  have  a  house  by  the  time  you've  done  the  sofa,  and  a 
wife  to  sit  on  it  too." 

"  Oh,  Linda,  you  are  so  ill-natured." 

"  Why,  child,  what  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?  If  you  were  to 
give  him  one  of  those  grand  long  tobacco  pipes  they  have  in 
the  shop  windows,  that's  what  he'd  like  the  best ;  or  something 
of  that  sort.  I  don't  think  he  cares  much  for  girls'  presents, 
such  as  purses  and  slippers." 

"  Doesn't  he  ?"  said  Katie,  mournfully. 

"  No ;  not  a  bit.     You  know  he's  such  a  rake." 

"  Oh  !  Linda  ;  I  don't  think  he's  so  very  bad,  indeed  I  don't ; 
and  mamma  doesn't  think  so  ;  and  you  know  Harry  said  on 
Easter  Sunday  that  he  was  much  better  than  he  used  to  be." 

"  I  know  Harry  is  very  good-natured  to  him." 

"  And  isn't  Charley  just  as  good-natured  to  Harry  ?  I  am 
quite  sure  he  is.  Harry  has  only  to  ask  the  1-east  thing,  and 
Charley  always  does  it.  Do  you  remember  how  Charley  went 
up  to  town  for  him  the  Sunday  before  last  ?" 

"  And  so  he  ought,"  said  Linda.  "  He  ought  to  do  whatever 
Harry  tells  him." 

"  Well,  Linda,  I  don't  know  why  he  ought,"  said  Katie. 
"  They  are  not  brothers,  you  know,  nor  yet  even  cousins." 

"  But  Harry  is  very — so  very — so  very  superior,  you  know," 
said  Linda. 


SURBITON   COLLOQUIES.  247 

"  I  don't  know  any  such  thing,"  said  Katie. 

"  Oh  !  Katie,  don't  yoii  know  that  Charley  is  such  a  rake  ?" 

"  But  rakes  are  just  the  people  who  don't  do  miltteTe^-they 
are  told  ;  so  that's  no  reason.  And  I  am  quite  sure  that  Charley 
is  much  the  cleverer.'' 

"  And  I  am  quite  sure  he  is  not — nor  half  so  clever ;  nor 
nearly  so  well  educated.  Why  don't  you  know  the  navvies  are 
the  most  ignorant  young  men  in  London?  Charley  says  so 
himself." 

"  That's  his  fun,"  said  Katie ;  "  besides,  he  always  makes 
little  of  himself  I  am  quite  sure  Harry  could  never  have 
made  all  of  that  about  Macassar  and  Crinoline  out  of  his  own 
head." 

"  No  !  because  he  doesp't  think  of  such  nonsensical  things.  I 
declare,  Miss  Katie,  I  think  you  are  in  love  with  Master 
Charley." 

Katie,  who  was  still  sitting  at  the  dressing-table,  blushed  up 
to  her  forehead  ;  and  at  the  same  time  her  eyes  were  suffused 
with  tears.  But  there  was  no  one  to  see  either  of  those  tell- 
tale symptoms,  for  Linda  was  in  bed. 

"  I  know  he  saved  my  life,"  said  Katie,  as  soon  as  she  could 
trust  herself  to  speak  without  betraying  her  emotion — "  I  know 
he  jumped  into  the  river  after  me,  and  very,  very  nearly 
drowned  himself;  and  I  don't  think  any  other  man  in  the 
world  would  have  done  so  much  for  me  besides  him." 

"  Oh,  Katie  !  Harry  would  in  a  moment." 

"  Not  for  me ;  perhaps  he  might  for  you — though  I'm  not 
quite  sure  that  he  would."  It  was  thus  that  Katie  took  her 
revenge  on  her  sister. 

"  I'm  quite  sure  he  would  for  anybody,  even  for  Sally."  Sally 
was  an  assistant  in  the  back  kitchen.  "  But  I  don't  mean  to 
say,  Katie,  that  you  shouldn't  feel  grateful  to  Charley  ;  of  course 
you  should." 

"  And  so  I  do,''  said  Katie,  now  bursting  out  into  tears,  over- 
done by  her  emotion  and  fatigue  ;  "  and  so  I  .do— and  I  do  love 
him,  and  will  love  him,  if  he's  ever  so  much  a  rake  !  But  you 
know,  Linda,  that  is  very  diflferent  from  being  in  love  ;  and  it 
was  very  ill-natured  of  you  to  say  so,  very." 

Linda  was  out  of  bed  in  a  trice,  and  sitting  with  her  arm 
round  her  sister's  neck. 

"  Why,  you  darling  little  foolish  child,  you  !  I  was  only 
quizzing,"  said  she.    "Don't  you  know  that  I  love  Charley,  too  ?" 

"But   you  shouldn't  quiz  about  such  a  thing  as  that.     If 


248  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

you'd  fallen  into  tlie  river,  and  Harry  had  pulled  you  out,  then 
you'd  know  what  I  mean  ;  but  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  he  could 
have  done  it." 

Katie's  perverse  wickedness  on  this  point  was  very  nearly 
giving  rise  to  another  contest  between  the  sisters.  Linda's 
common  sense,  however,  prevailed,  and  giving  up  the  point  of 
Harry's  prowess,  she  succeeded  at  last  in  getting  Katie  into 
bed.  "  You  know  mamma  will  be  so  angry  if  she  hears  us," 
said  Linda,  "  and  I  am  sure  you  will  be  ill  to-morrow." 

"  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  being  ill  to-morrow  ; — and  yet  I  do 
too,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  for  it's  Sunday.  It  would  be 
so  stupid  not  to  be  able  to  go  out  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  then,  try  to  go  to  sleep  at  once  " — and  Linda  care- 
fully tucked  the  clothes  around  her  sister. 

"  I  think  it  shall  be  a  purse,"  said  Katie. 

"  A  purse  will  certainly  be  the  best ;  that  is,  if  you  don't  like 
the  slippers,"  and  Linda  rolled  herself  up  comfortably  in  the  bed. 

"  No — I  don't  like  the  slippers  at  all.  It  shall  be  a  purse. 
I  can  do  that  the  quickest  you  know.  It's  so  stupid  to  give  a 
thing  when  everything  about  it  is  forgotten,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Very  stupid,"  said  Linda,  nearly  asleep. 

"And  when  it's  worn  out  I  can  make  another,  can't  I?" 

"  H'm  'm  'm,"  said  Linda,  quite  asleep. 

And  then  Katie  went  asleep  also,  in  her  sister's  arms. 

Early  in  the  morning — that  is  to  say,  not  very  early,  perhaps 
between  seven  and  eight — Mrs.  Woodward  came  into  their  room, 
and  having  inspected  her  charges,  desired  that  Katie  should  not 
get  up  for  morning  church,  but  lie  in  bed  till  the  middle  of  the 

"  Oh,  mamma,  it  will  be  so  stupid  not  going  to  church  after 
tumbling  into  the  river ;  people  will  say  that  all  my  clothes  are 
wet." 

"  People  will  about  tell  the  truth  as  to  some  of  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Woodward;  "but  don't  you  mind  about  people,  but  lie 
still  and  go  to  sleep  if  you  can.  Linda,  do  you  come  and  dress 
in  my  room." 

"And  is  Charley  to  lie  in  bed  too?"  said  Katie.  "'He  was  in 
the  river  longer  than  I  was," 

"It's  too  late  to  keep  Charley  in  bed,"  said  Linda,  "for  I 
see  him  coming  along  the  road  now  with  a  towel ;  he's  been' 
bathing." 

"  Oh,  I  do  so  wish  I  could  go  and  bathe,"  said  Katie. 

Poor  Katie  was  kept  in  bed  till  the  afternoon.     Charley  and 


SURBITON   COLLOQUIES.  249 

Harry,  however,  were  allowed  to  come  up  to  lier  bed-room  door, 
and  hear  her  pronounce  herself  quite  well. 

"  IIow  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Macassar  ?"  said  she. 

"  And  how  d'ye  do,  my  Lady  Crinoline  ?"  said  Harry.  After 
that  Katie  never  called  Charley  Mr.  Macassar  again. 

They  all  went  to  church,  and  Katie  was  left  to  sleep  or  read, 
or  think  of  the  new  purse  that  she  was  to  make,  as  best  she 
might. 

And  then  they  dined,  and  then  they  walked  out ;  but  still 
without  Katie.  She  was  to  get  up  and  dress  while  they  were 
out,  so  as  to  receive  them  in  state  in  the  drawing-room  on  their 
return.  Four  of  them  walked  together;  for  tJncle  Bat  now 
usually  took  himself  off  to  his  friend  at  Hampton  Court  on 
Sunday  afternoon.  Mrs.  Woodward  walked  with  Charley,  and 
Harry  and  Linda  paired  together. 

"  Now,"  said  Charley  to  himself,  "  now  would  have  been  the 
time  to  have  told  Mrs.  Woodward  everything,  but  for  that  acci- 
dent of  yesterday.  Now  I  can  tell  her  nothing  ;  to  do  so  now 
would  be  to  demand  her  sympathy  and  to  ask  for  assistance ;" 
and  so  he  determined  to  tell  her  nothing. 

But  the  very  cause  which  made  Charley  dumb  on  the  subject 
of  his  own  distresses  made  Mrs.  Woodward  inquisitive  about 
them.  She  knew  that  his  life  was  not  like  that  of  Harry — 
steady,  sober,  and  discreet ;  but  she  felt  that  she  did  not  like 
him,  or  even  love  him  the  less  on  this  account.  Nay,  it  was 
not  clear  to  her  that  these  failings  of  his  did  not  give  him  addi- 
tional claims  on  her  sympathies.  What  could  she  do  for  him  ? 
how  could  she  relieve  him  ?  how  could  she  bring  him  back  to 
the  right  way  ?  She  spoke  to  him  of  his  London  life,  praised 
his  talents,  encouraged  him  to  exertion,  besought  him  to  have 
some  solicitude,  and,  above  all,  some  respect  for  himself.  And 
then,  with  that  delicacy  which  such  a  woman,  and  none  but 
such  a  woman,  can  use  in  such  a  matter,  she  asked  him  whether 
he  was  still  in  debt. 

Charley,  with  shame  we  must  own  it,  had  on  this  subject  been 
false  to  all  his  friends.  He  had  been  false  to  his  father  and  his 
mother,  and  had  never  owned  to  them  the  half  of  what  he 
owed;  he  had  been  false  to  Alaric,  and  false  to  Harry;  but 
now,  now,  at  such  a  moment  as  this,  he  would  not  allow  him- 
self to  be  false  to  Mrs.  Woodward. 

'*  Yes,"  he  said,  "  he  was  in  debt — rather." 

Mrs.  Woodward  pressed  him  to  say  whether  his  debts  were 
heavy — whether  he  owed  much. 


250  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

"  It's  no  use  thinking  of  it,  Mrs.  Woodward,"  said  he  ;  "  not 
the  least.  I  know  I  ought  not  to  come  down  here  ;  and  I  don't 
think  I  will  any  more." 

"Not  come  down  here  !"  said  Mrs.  Woodward.  "Why  not  ? 
There's  very  little  expense  in  that.  I  dare  say  you'd  spend 
quite  as  much  in  London." 

"  Oh — of  course — three  times  as  much,  perhaps ;  that  is,  if  I 
had  it — but  I  don't  mean  that." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  she. 

Charley  walked  on  in  silence,  with  melancholy  look,  very 
crestfallen,  his  thumbs  stuck  into  his  waistcoat  pockets. 

"Upon  my  word  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward.  "  I  should  have  thought  coming  to  Hampton 
might  perhaps — perhaps  have  kept  you — I  don't  exactly  mean 
out  of  mischief."  That,  however,  in  spite  of  her  denial,  was 
exactly  what  Mrs.  Woodward  did  mean. 

"  So  it  does — but "  said  Charley,  now  thoroughly  ashamed 

of  himself. 

"  But  what  ?"  said  she. 

"  I  am  .not  fit^o  be  here,"  said  Charley  ;  and  as  he  spoke  his 
manly  self-control  all  gave  w^ay,  and  big  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks. 

Mrs.  Woodward,  in  her  woman's  heart,  resolved,  that  if  it 
might  in  any  way  be  possible,  she  would  make  him  fit,  fit  not 
only  to  be  there,  but  to  hold  his  head  up  with  the  best  in  any 
company  in  which  he  might  find  himself. 

She  questioned  him  no  further  then.  Her  wish  now  was 
not  to  torment  him  further,  but  to  comfort  him.  She  deter- 
mined that  she  would  consult  with  Harry  and  with  her  uncle, 
and  take  counsel  from  them  as  to  what  steps  might  be  taken  to 
save  the  brand  from  the  burning.  She  talked  to  him  as  a 
mother  might  have  done,  leaning  on  his  arm,  as  she  returned  ; 
leaning  on  him  as  a  woman  never  leans  on  a  man  whom  she 
deems  unfit  for  her  society.  All  this  Charley's  heart  and 
instinct  fully  understood,  and  he  was  not  ungrateful. 

But  yet  he  had  but  little  to  comfort  him.  He  must  return  to 
town  on  Monday ;  return  to  Mr.  Snape  and  the  lock  entries,  to 
Mr.  M'Ruen  and  the  three  Seasons — to  Mrs.  Davis,  Norah 
Geraghty,  and  that  horrid  Mr.  Peppermint.  He  never  once 
thought  of  Clementina  Golightl}^  to  whom  at  that  moment  he 
was  being  married  by  the  joint  energies  of  Undy  Scott  and  his 
cousin  Alaric. 

And  what  had  Linda  and  Norman  been  doing  all  this  time  ? 


THE   CHILTERN    HUNDREDS.  251 

Had  they  been  placing-  mutual  confidence  in  each  other  ?  No  ; 
they  had  not  come  to  that  yet.  Linda  still  remembered  the 
pang  with  which  she  had  first  heard  of  Gertrude's  engagement, 
and  Harry  Norman  had  not  yet  been  able  to  open  his  seared 
heart  to  a  second  love. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  a  letter  was  brought  to  Captain 
Cuttwater,  which  did  not  seem  to  raise  his  spirits. 

"  Whom  is  your  letter  from,  uncle  ?"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  From  Alaric,"  said  he,  gruffly,  crumpling  it  up  and  putting 
it  into  his  pocket.  And  then  he  turned  to  his  rum  and  water 
in  a  manner  that  showed  his  determination  to  say  nothing 
more  on  the  matter. 

In  the  morning  Harry  and  Charley  returned  to  town.  Cap- 
tain Cuttwater  went  up  with  them ;  and  all  was  again  quiet  at 
Surbiton  Cottage. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MR.    m'BUFFER    accepts    THE    CHILTERN    HUNDREDS. 

It  was  an  anxious  hour  for  the  Honorable  Undecimus  Scott 
when  he  first  learnt  that  Mr.  M'Buffer  had  accepted  the 
Stewardship  of  the  Chiltern  Hundreds.  The  Stewardship  of  the 
Chiltern  Hundreds  !  Does  it  never  occur  to  any  one  how 
many  persons  are  appointed  to  that  valuable  situation  ?  Or 
does  any  one  ever  reflect  why  a  Member  of  Parliament,  when 
he  wishes  to  resign  his  post  of  honor,  should  not  be  simply 
gazetted  in  the  newspapers  as  having  done  so,  instead  of  being 
named  as  the  new  Steward  of  the  Chiltern  Hundreds  ?  No  one 
ever  does  think  of  it ;  resigning  and  becoming  a  steward  are 
one  and  the  same  thing,  with  this  diff'erence,  however,  that  one 
of  the  grand  bulwarks  of  the  British  constitution  is  thus 
preserved. 

Well,  Mr.  M'BuflFer,  who,  having  been  elected  by  the  inde- 
pendent electors  of  the  Tillietudlem  burghs  to  serve  them  in 
Parliament,  could  not,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  the 
constitution,  have  got  himself  out  of  that  honorable  but 
difiicult  position  by  any  scheme  of  his  own,  found  himself  on 
a  sudden  a  free  man,  the  Queen  having  selected  him  to  be  her 
steward  for  the  district  in  question.  We  have  no  doubt  but 
that  the  deed  of  appointment  set  forth  that  her  Majesty  had 
been  moved  to  this  step  by  the  firm  trust  she  had  in  the  skill 
and  fidelity  of  the  said  Mr.  M'Buff"er ;  but  if  so  her  Majesty's 


252  '        THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

trust  would  seem  to  Lave  been  somewhat  misplaced,  as  Mr. 
Mc'Buffer,  having  been  a  managing  director  of  a  bankrupt 
swindle,  from  which  he  had  contrived  to  pillage  some  thirty  or 
forty  thousand  pounds,  was  now  unable  to  show  his  face  at 
Tillietudlem,  or  in  the  House  of  Commons ;  and  in  thus 
retreating  from  his  membership  had  no  object  but  to  save 
himself  from  the  expulsion  which  he  feared.  It  was,  however, 
a  consolation  for  him  to  think  that  in  what  he  had  done  the 
bulwarks  of  the  British  constitution  had  been  preserved. 

It  w^as  an  anxious  moment  for  Undy.  The  existing  Parlia- 
ment had  still  a  year  and  a  half,  or  possibly  two  years  and  a 
half,  to  run.  He  had  already  been  withdrawn  from  the  public 
eye  longer  than  he  thought  was  suitable  to  the  success  of  his 
career.  He  particularly  disliked  obscurity,  for  he  had  found 
that  in  his  case  obscurity  had  meant  coniparative  poverty.  An 
obscure  man,  as  he  observed  early  in  life,~Tiad  nothing  to  sell. 
Now,  Undy  had  once  had  something  to  sell,  and  a  very  good 
market  he  had  made  of  it.  He  was  of  course  anxious  that  those 
halcyon  days  should  return.  Fond  of  him  as  the  electors  of 
Tillietudlem  no  doubt  were,  devoted  as  they  might  be  in  a 
general  way  to  his  interests  still,  still  it  was  possible  that  they 
might  forget  him,  if  he  remained  too  long  away  from  their 
embraces.  "  Out  of  sight  out  of  mind "  is  a  proverb  which 
opens  to  us  the  woM  side  of  human  nature.  But  even  at 
Tillietudlem  nature's  worst  side  might  sometimes  show  itself. 

Actuated  by  such  feelings  as  these,  Undy  heard  with  joy  the 
tidings  of  Mc'Buffer's  stewardship,  and  determined  to  rush  to 
the  battle  at  once.  Battle  he  knew  there  must  be.  To  be 
brought  in  for  the  district  of  Tillietudlem  was  a  prize  which 
had  never  yet  fallen  to  any  man's  lot  without  a  contest. 
Tillietudlem  was  no  poor  pocket  borough  to  be  disposed  of,  this 
way  or  that  way,  according  to  the  caprice  or  venal  call  of  some 
aristocrat.  The  men  of  Tillietudlem  knew  the  value  of  their 
votes,  and  would  only  give  them  according  to  their  consciences. 
The  way  to  win  these  consciences,  to  overcome  the  sensitive 
<loubts  of  a  free  and  independent  Tillietudlem  elector,  Undy 
knew  to  his  cost. 

It  was  almost  a  question,  as  he  once  told  Alaric,  whether  all 
that  he  could  sell  was  worth  all  that  he  was  compelled  to  buy. 
But  having  put  his  neck  to  the  collar  in  this  line  of  life,  he  was 
not  now  going  to  withdraw.  Tillietudlem  was  once  more 
vacant,  and  Undy  determined  to  try  it  again,  undaunted  by 
former  outlays.     To  make  an  outlay,  however,  at  any  rate  in 


THE   €IIir,TERN    HUNDREDS.  253 

electioneering  matters,  it  is  necessary  that  a  man  should  have 
in  hand  some  ready  cash  ;  at  the  present  moment  Undy  had 
very  little,  and  therefore  the  news  of  Mr.  M'Buffer's  retirement 
to  the  German  baths  for  his  health  was  not  heard  with  unalloyed 
delight. 

He  first  went  -into  the  city,  as  men  always  do  when  they 
want  money ;  though  in  what  portion  of  the  city  they  find  it, 
has  never  come  to  the  author's  knowledge.  Charley  Tudor,  to 
be  sure,  did  get  51.  by  going  to  the  "Banks  of  Jordan  ;"  but 
the  supply  likely  to  be  derived  from  such  a  fountain  as  that 
would  hardly  be  sufficient  for  Undy's  wants.  Having  done 
what  he  could  in  the  city,  he  came  to  Alaric,  and  prayed  for 
the  assistance  of  all  his  friend's  energies  in  the  matter.  Alaric 
would  not  have  been,  and  was  not  unwilling  to  assist  him  to  the 
extent  of  his  ow^n  immediate  means  ;  but  his  own  immediate 
means  were  limited,  and  Undy's  desire  for  ready  cash  Was 
almost  unlimited. 

There  was  a  certain  railway  or  proposed  railway  in  Ireland, 
in  which  Undy  had  ventured  very  deeply,  more  so  indeed  than 
he  had  deemed  it  quite  prudent  to  divulge  to  his  friend  ;  and 
in  order  to  gain  certain  ends  he  had  induced  Alaric  to  become 
a  director  of  this  line.  The  line  in  question  was  the  Great 
West  Cork,  which  was  to  run  from  Skibbereen  to  Bantry,  and 
the  momentous  question  now  hotly  debated  before  the  Railway 
Board  was  on  the  moot  point  of  a  branch  to  Ballydehob.  If 
Undy  could  carry  the  West  Cork  and  Ballydehob  branch 
entire,  he  would  make  a  pretty  thing  of  it ;  but  if,  as  there  was 
too  much  reason  to  fear,  his  Irish  foes  should  prevail,  and  leave 
— as  Undy  had  once  said  in  an  eloquent  speech  at  a  very 
influential  meeting  of  shareholders — and  leave  the  unfortunate 
agricultural  and  commercial  interest  of  Ballydehob  steeped  in 
Cimmerian  darkness,  the  chances  were  that  poor  Undy  would 
be  well-nigh  ruined. 

Such  being  the  case,  he  had  striven,  not  unsuccessfully,  to 
draw  Alaric  into  the  concern.  Alaric  had  bought  very  cheaply 
a  good  many  shares,  which  many  people  said  were  worth 
nothing,  and  had,  by  dint  of  Undy's  machinations,  been  chosen 
a  director  on  the  board.  Undy  himself  meanwhile  lay  by, 
hoping  that  fortune  might  restore  him  to  Parliament,  and  haply 
put  him  on  that  committee  which  must  finally  adjudicate  as  to 
the  great  question  of  the  Ballydehob  branch. 

Such  w"ere  the  circumstances  under  which  he  came  to  Alaric 
with  the  view  of  raising  such  a  sum  of  money  as  might  enable 


254  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

him  to  overcome  the  scruples  of  the  Tillietudlem  electors,  and 
place  himself  in  the  shoes  lately  vacated  by  Mr.  M'BufFer. 

They  were  sitting  together  after  dinner,  when  he  commenced 
the  subject.  He  and  Mrs.  Val  and  Clementina  had  done  the 
Tudors  the  honor  of  dining  with  them ;  and  the  ladies  had  now 
gone  up  into  the  drawing-room,  and  were  busy  talking  over  the 
Chiswick  affair,  which  was  to  come  off  in  the  next  week,  and 
after  which  Mrs.  Val  intended  to  give  a  small  evening  party  to 
the  most  elite  of  her  acquaintance. 

"  We  won't  have  all  the  world,  my  dear,"  she  had  said  to 
Gertrude,  "  but  just  a  few  of  our  own  set  that  are  really  nice. 
Clementina  is  dying  to  try  that  new  back  step  with  M. 
Jaquetanape,  so  we  won't  crowd  the  room."  Such  were  the 
immediate  arrangements  of  the  Tudor  and  Scott  party. 

"  So  M'Buffer  is  off  at  last,"  said  Scott,  as  he  seated  himself 
and  filled  his  glass,  after  closing  the  dining-room  door.  "He 
brought  his  pigs  to  a  bad  market  after  all." 

"  He  was  an  infernal  rogue,"  said  Alaric. 

"Well,  I  suppose  he  was,"  said  Undy ;  "tind  a  fool  into  the 
bargain  to  be  found  out." 

"He  was  a  downright  swindler,"  said  Alaric. 

"After  all,"  said  the  other,  not  paying  much  attention  to 
Alaric's  indignation,  "he  did  not  do  so  very  badly.  Why, 
M'Buffer  has  been  at  it  now  for  thirteen  years.  He  began  with 
nothing  ;  he  had  neither  blood  nor  money  ;  and  God  knows  he 
had  no  social  merits  to  recommend  him.  He  is  as  vulgar  as  a 
hog,  as  awkward  as  an  elephant,  and  as  ugly  as  an  ape.  I 
believe  he  never  had  a  friend,  and  was  known  at  his  club  to  be 
the  greatest  bore  that  ever  came  out  of  Scotland ;  and  yet  for 
thirteen  years  he  has  lived  on  the  fat  of  the  land  ;  for  five  years 
he  has  been  in  Parliament,  his  wife  has  gone  about  in  her  car- 
riage, and  every  man  in  the  city  has  been  willing  to  shake  hands 
with  him." 

"  And  what  has  it  all  come  to  ?"  said  Alaric,  whom  the  ques- 
tion of  M'Buffer's  temporary  prosperity  made  rather  thoughtful. 

"  Well,  not  so  bad  either ;  he  has  had  his  fling  for  thirteen 
years,  and  that's  something.  Thirteen  good  years  out  of  a 
man's  life  is  more  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  every  one.  And  then, 
I  suppose,  he  has  saved  something." 

"  And  he  is  spoken  of  everywhere  as  a  monster  for  whom 
hanging  is  too  good." 

"  Pshaw !  that  won't  hang  him.  Yesterday  he  was  a  God  ; 
to-day  he  is  a  devil ;  to-morrow  he'll  be  a  man  again  ;  that's  all." 


THE   CHILTERN    HUNDREDS.  255 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me,  Undy,  that  tlie  conscious- 
ness of  such  crimes  as  those  which  M'ButFer  has  committed 
must  not  make  a  man  wretched  in  this  world,  and  probably  in 
the  next  also  ?" 

" '  Judge  not,  and  ye  shall  not  be  judged,' "  said  Undy, 
quoting  Scripture  as  the  devil  did  before  him  ;  "  and  as  for  con- 
sciousness of  crime,  I  suppose  M'Buffer  has  none  at  all.  I  have 
no  doubt  he  thinks  himself  quite  as  honest  as  the  rest  of  the 
world.  He  firmly  believes  that  all  of  us  are  playing  the  same 
game,  and  using  the  same  means,  and  has  no  idea  whatever  that 
dishonesty  is  objectionable." 

"And  you,  what  do  you  think  about  it  yourself?" 

"  I  think  the  greatest  rogues  are  they  who  talk  most  of  their 
honesty ;  and,  therefore,  as  I  wish  to  be  thought  honest  myself, 
I  never  talk  of  my  own." 

They  both  sat  silent  for  a  while,  Undy  bethinking  himself 
what  arguments  w^ould  be  most  efficacious  towards  inducing 
Alaric  to  strip  himself  of  every  available  shilling  that  he  had  ; 
and  Alaric  debating  in  his  own  mind  that  great  question  which 
he  so  often  debated,  as  to  wdiether  men,  men  of  the  world,  the 
great  and  best  men  whom  he  saw  around  him,  really  endeavored 
to  be  honest,  or  endeavored  only  to  seem  so.  Honesty  was 
preached  to  him  on  every  side  ;  but  did  he,  in  his  intercourse 
w4th  the  world,  find  men  to  be  honest  ?  Or  did  it  behove  him, 
a  practical  man  like  him,  a  man  so  determined  to  battle  with 
the  w^orld  as  he  had  determined,  did  it  behove  such  a  one  as  he 
to  be  more  honest  than  his  neighbors  ? 

He  also  encouraged  himself  by  that  mystic  word,  "Excel- 
sior ?"  To  him  it  was  a  watchword  of  battle,  repeated 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  It  was  the  prevailing  idea  of  his 
life.  Excelsior  !  Yes  ;  how  great,  how^  grand,  how  all-absorb- 
ing is  the  idea!  But  what  if  a  man  may  be  going  down,  down 
to  Tophet,  and  yet  think  the  w^hile  that  he  is  scaling  the  w^alls 
of  heaven  ? 

•"  But  you  wish  to  think  yourself  honest,"  he  said,  disturbing 
Undy  just  as  that  hero  had  determined  on  the  way  in  which  he 
would  play  his  present  hand  of  cards. 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  difficulty  about  that,"  said  Undy; 
"and  I  dare  say  you  have  none  either.  But  as  to  M'Bufter, 
his  going  will  be  a  great  thing  for  us,  if,  as  I  don't  doubt,  I  can 
get  his  seat." 

"  It  will  be  a  great  thing  for  you,"  said  Alaric,  who,  as  well 
as  Undy,  had  his  Parliamentary  ambition. 


256  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"And  for  you  too,  my  boy.  We  should  carry  the  Bally- 
dehob  branch  to  a  dead  certainty ;  and  even  if  we  did  not  do 
that,  we'd  bring  it  so  near  it  that  the  expectation  of  it  would 
send  the  shares  up  like  mercury  in  fine  weather.  They  are  at 
21.  125.  Qd.  now,  and,  if  I  am  in  the  House  next  Session,  they'll 
be  up  to  7?.  10s.  before  Easter;  and  what's  more,  my  dear 
fellow,  if  we  can't  help  ourselves  in  that  way,  they'll  be  worth 
nothing  in  a  very  few  months." 

Alaric  looked  rather  blank ;  for  he  had  invested  deeply  in 
this  line,  of  which  he  was  now  a  director,  of  a  week's  standing, 
or  perhaps  we  should  say  sitting.  He  had  sold  out  all  his 
golden  hopes  in  the  Wheal  Mary  Jane  for  the  sake  of  embark- 
ing his  money  and  becoming  a  director  in  this  Irish  Railway, 
and  in  one  other  speculation  nearer  home,  of  wliich--UfHJy"iiad- 
a  great  opinion,  viz  :  the  Limehouse  Thames  Bridge  Company. 
Such  being  the  case,  he  did  not  like  to  hear  the  West  Cork 
with  the  Ballydehob  branch  spoken  of  so  slightingly. 

"  The  fact  is,  a  man  can  do  anything  if  he  is  in  the  House, 
and  he  can  do  nothing  if  he  is  not,"  said  Undy.  "  You  know 
our  old  Aberdeen  saying,  '  You  scratch  me  and  I'll  scratch 
you.'  It  is  not  only  what  a  man  may  do  himself  for  himself, 
but  it  is  what  others  will  do  for  him  when  he  is  in  a  position 
to  help  them.  Now,  there  are  those  fellows ;  I  am  hand-and- 
glove  with  all  of  them ;  but  there  is  not  one  of  them  would  lift 
a  finger  to  help  me  as  I  am  now ;  but  let  me  get  my  seat 
again,  and  they'll  do  for  me  just  anything  I  ask  them.  Yigil 
moves  the  new  writ  to-night ;  I  got  a  line  from  him  asking  me 
whether  I  was  ready.  There  was  no  good  to  be  got  by  waiting, 
so  I  told  him  to  fire  away." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  go  down  at  once  ?"  said  Alaric. 

"  Well,  that's  as  may  be — at  least,  yes  ;  that's  my  intention. 
But  there's  one  thing  needful, — and  that  is  the  needful." 

"  Money  ?"  suggested  Alaric. 

"  Yes,  money — cash — rhino — tin — ready — or  by  what  other 
name  the  goddess  would  be  pleased  to  have  herself  worshipped ; 
money,  sir ;  there's  the  difiiculty,  now  as  ever.  Even  at  Tillie- 
tudlem  money  will  have  its  weight." 

"Can't  your  father  assislr-you  ?" _said  Alaric. 

"My  father!  I  wonder  how  he'd  look  if  he  got  a  letter 
from  me  asking  for  money.  You  might  as  well  expect  a  goose 
to  feed  her  young  with  blood  out  of  her  own  breast,  like  a 
pelican,  as  expect  that  a  Scotch  lord  should  give  money  to  his 
younger  sons  like  an  English  duke.     What  would  my  father 


THE   CHILTERN    HUNDREDS.  257 

get  by  my  being  member  for  Tillietudlem  ?  No ;  I  must  look 
nearer  home  than  mv  father.     What  can  you  do  for  me  ?" 

"  I  f 

"  Yes,  you,"  said  Undy ;  "I  am  sure  you  don't  mean  to  say 
you'll  refuse  to  lend  me  a  helping  hand  if  you  can.  I  must 
realise  by  the  Ballydehobs,  if  I  am  once  in  the  House;  and 
then  you'd  have  your  money  back  at  once." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  said  Alaric  ;  "  but  I  haven't  got  it." 

"  I  am  sure  you  could  let  me  have  a  thousand  or  so,"  said 
Undy.  "  I  think  a  couple  of  thousand  would  carry  it,  and  I 
could  make  out  the  other  myself." 

"  Every  shilling  I  have,"  said  Alaric,  "  is  either  in  the  Bally- 
dehobs or  in  the  Limehouse  Bridge.  Why  don't  you  sell 
yourself  V 

"  So  I  have,"  said  Undy ;  "  everything  that  I  can  without 
utter  ruin.     The  Ballydehobs  are  not  saleable,  as  you  know." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  then  ?" 

Undy  set  himself  again  to  think.  "  I  have  no  doubt  I  could 
get  a  thousand  on  our  joint  names.  That  blackguard,  M'Ruen, 
would  do  it.'' 

"  Who's  M'Ruen  ?"  asked  Alaric. 

"A  low  blackguard  of  a  discounting  Jew  Christian.  He 
would  do  it ;  but  then,  heaven  knows  what  he  would  charge, 
and  he'd  make  so  many  difficulties  that  I  shouldn't  have  the 
money  for  the  next  fortnight." 

"I  wouldn't  have  my  name  on  a  bill  in  such  a  man's  hands 
on  any  account,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  it  myself,"  said  Undy  ;  "  but  what  the 
deuce  am  I  to  do  ?  I  might  as  well  go  to  Tillietudlem  without 
my  head  as  without  money." 

"  I  thought  you'd  kept  a  lot  of  the  Mary  Janes,"  said  Alaric. 

"  So  I  had,  but  they  are  gone  now.  I  tell  you  I've  managed 
1,000/.  myself.  It  would  murder  me  now  if  the  seat  were  to  go 
into  other  hands.  I'd  get  the  Committee  on  the  Limehouse 
Bridge,  and  we  should  treble  our  money.  Vigil  told  me  he 
would  not  refuse  the  Committee,  though  of  course  the  Govern- 
ment won't  consent  to  a  grant  if  they  can  help  it." 

"  Well,  Undy,  I  can  let  you  have  250/.,  and  that  is  every 
shilling  I  have  at  my  banker's." 

"  They  would  not  let  you  overdraw  a  few  hundreds  ?"  sug- 
gested Undy. 

*'  I  certainly  shall  not  try  them,"  said  Alaric. 

"  You  are  so  full  of  scruple,  so  green,  so  young,"  said  Undy, 


258  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

almost  in  an  enthusiasm  of  remonstrance.  "  What  can  be  the 
harm  of  trying  them  ?" 

"  My  creditJ^- — - 

"Fallal.  What's  the  meaning  of  credit?  How  are  you  to 
know  whether  you  have  got  any  credit  if  you  don't  try? 
Come,  I'll  tell  you  how  you  can  do  it.  Old  Cuttwater  would 
lend  it  you  for  the  asking." 

To  this  proposition  Alaric  at  first  turned  a  deaf  ear  ;  but  by 
degrees  he  allowed  Undy  to  talk  him  over.  Undy  showed  him 
that  if  he  lost  the  Tillietudlem  burghs  on  this  occasion  it  would 
be  useless  for  him  to  attempt  to  stand  for  them  again.  In  such 
case,  he  would  have  no  alternative  at  the  next  general  election 
but  to  stand  for  the  borough  of  Strathbogy  in  Aberdeenshire ; 
whereas,  if  he  could  secure  Tillietudlem  as  a  seat  for  himself, 
all  the  Gaberlunzie  interest  in  the  borough  of  Strathbogy, 
which  was  supposed  to  be  by  no  means  small,  should  be 
transferred  to  Alaric  himself.  Indeed,  Sandie  Scott,  the  eldest 
hope  of  the  Gaberlunzie  family,  would,  in  such  case,  himself 
propose  Alaric  to  the  electors.  Ca'stalk  Cottage,  in  which  the 
Hon.  Sandie  lived,  and  which  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
Gaberlunzie  property,  was  absolutely  within  the  boundary  of 
the  borough. 

Overcome  by  these  and  other  arguments,  Alaric  at  last  con- 
sented to  ask  from  Captain  Cuttwater  the  loan  of  YOOZ.  That 
sum  Undy  had  agreed  to  accept  as  a  sufficient  contribution  to 
that  desirable  public  object,  the  re-seating  himself  for  the 
Tillietudlem  borough,  and  as  Alaric  on  reflection  thought  that 
it  would  be  uncomfortable  to  be  left  penniless  himself  and  as  it 
was  just  as  likely  that  Uncle  Bat  would  lend  him  700Z.  as  500/., 
he  determined  to  ask  for  a  loan  of  the  entire  sum.  He  accord- 
ingly did  so,  and  the  letter,  as  we  have  seen,  reached  the 
captain  while  Harry  and  Charley  were  at  Surbiton  Cottage. 
The  old  gentleman  was  anything  but  pleased.  In  the  first 
place  he  liked  his  money,  though  not  with  any  overweening 
affection;  in  the  next  place,  he  had  done  a  great  deal  for 
Alaric,  and  did  not  like  being  asked  to  do  more ;  and  lastly,  he 
feared  that  there  must  be  some  evil  cause  for  the  necessity  of 
such  a  loan  so  soon  after  Alaric's  marriage. 

Alaric  in  making  his  application  had  not  done  so  actually 
without  making  any  explanation  on  the  subject.  He  wrote  a 
long  letter,  worded  very  cleverly,  which  only  served  to  mystify 
the  captain,  as  Alaric  had  intended  that  it  should  do.  Captain 
Cuttwater  was  most  anxious  that  Alaric,  whom  he  looked  on  as 


CHISWICK   GARDENS.  259 

his  adopted  son,  should  rise  in  tlie  world ;  he  would  have  been 
delighted  to  think  that  he  might  possibly  live  to  see  him  in 
Parliament ;  would  probably  have  made  considerable  pecuniary 
sacrifice  for  such  an  object.  With  the  design,  therefore,  of 
softening  Captain  Cuttwater's  heart,  Alaric  in  his  letter  had 
spoken  about  great  changes  that  were  coming,  of  the  necessity 
that  there  was  of  his  stirring  himself,  of  the  great  pecuniary 
results  to  be  expected  from  a  small  present  expenditure  ;  and 
ended  by  declaring  that  the  money  was  to  be  used  in  forward- 
ing the  election  of  his  friend  Scott  for  the  Tillietudlem  district 
burghs. 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that  Uncle  Bat,  though  he  cared  a  great 
deal  for  Alaric,  did  not  care  a  rope's  end  for  Undy  Scott,  and 
could  enjoy  his  rum-punch  just  as  keenly  if  Mr.  Scott  was  in 
obscurity  as  he  could  possibly  hope  to  do  even  if  that  gentle- 
man should  be  promoted  to  be  a  Lord  of  the  Treasury.  He 
was  not  at  all  pleased  to  think  that  his  hard-earned  moidores 
should  run  down  the  gullies  of  the  Tillietudlem  boroughs  in 
the  shape  of  muddy  ale  or  vitriolic  whiskey ;  and  yet  this  was 
the  first  request  that  Alaric  had  ever  made  to  him,  and  he  did 
not  like  to  refuse  Alaric's  first  request.  So  he  came  up  to  town 
himself  on  the  following  morning  with  Harry  and  Charley, 
determined  to  reconcile  all  these  diflaculties  by  the  light  of  his 
own  wisdom. 

In  the  evening  he  returned  to  Surbiton  Cottage,  having  been 
into  the  city,  sold  out  stock  for  YOO/.,  and  handed  over  the  mo- 
ney to  Alaric  Tudor. 

On  the  following  morning  Undy  Scott  set  out  for  Scotland, 
properly  freighted,  Mr.  Whip  Vigil  having  in  due  course  moved 
for  a  new  writ  for  the  Tillietudlem  borough  in  the  place 
of  Mr.  M'Buff"er,  who  had  accepted  the  situation  of  Steward  of 
the  Chiltern  Hundreds. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CHISWICK    GARDENS. 


The  following  Thursday  was  as  fine  as  a  Chiswick  flower  show- 
day  ought  to  be,  and  so  very  seldom  is.  The  party  who  had 
agreed  to  congregate  there — the  party,  that  is,  whom  we  are 
to  meet — was  very  select.  Linda  and  Katie  had  come  up  to 
spend  a  few  days  with  their  sister.  Mrs.  Val,  Clementina,  Ger- 
trude, and  Linda  were  to  go  in  a  carriage,  for  which  Alaric  was 


260  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

destined  to  pay,  and  which  Mrs.  Yal  had  hired,  having  selected 
it  regardless  of  expense,  as  one  which,  by  its  decent  exterior  and 
polished  outward  graces,  conferred  on  its  temporary  occupiers 
an  agreeable  appearance  of  proprietorship.  The  two  MisS 
Neverbends,  sisters  of  Fidus,  were  also  to  be  with  them,  and 
they  with  Katie  followed  humbly,  as  became  their  station,  in  a 
cab,  which  was  not  only  hired,  but  which  very  vulgarly  told 
the  fact  to  all  the  world. 

Slight  as  had  been  the  intimacy  between  Fidus  Neverbend 
and  Alaric  at  Tavistock,  nevertheless  a  sort  of  friendship  had 
since  grown  up  between  them.  Alaric  had  ascertained  that 
Fidus  might  in  a  certain  degree  be  useful  to  him,  that  the  good 
word  of  the  Aristides  of  the  Works  and  Buildings  might  be 
serviceable,  and  that,  in  short,  Neverbend  was  worth  cultivat- 
ing. Neverbend,  on  the  other  hand,  when  he  perceived  that 
Tudor  was  likely  to  become  a  Civil  Service  hero,  a  man  to  be 
named  with  glowing  eulogy  at  all  the  Government  Boards  in 
London,  felt  unconsciously  a  desire  to  pay  him  some  of  that 
reverence  which  a  mortal  always  feels  for  a  god.  And  thus 
there  was  formed  between  them  a  sort  of  alliance,  which  in- 
cluded also  the  ladies  of  the  family. 

Not  that  Mrs.  Val,  or  even  Mrs.  A.  Tudqr,  encountered 
Lactimel  and  Ugolina  Neverbend  on  equal  terms.  There  is  a 
distressing  habitual  humility  in  many  unmarried  ladies  of  an 
uncertain  age,  which  at  the  first  blush  tells  the  tale  against 
them  which  they  are  so  painfully  anxious  to  leave  untold.  In 
order  to  maintain  their  places  but  yet  a  little  longer  in  that  de- 
licious world  of  love,  sighs,  and  dancing  partners,  from  which 
it  must  be  so  hard  for  a  maiden,  with  all  her  youthful  tastes 
about  her,  to  tear  herself  for  ever  away,  they  smile  and  say 
pretty  things,  put  up  with  the  caprices  of  married  women,  and 
play  second  fiddle,  though  the  doing  so  in  no  whit  assists  them 
in  their  task.  Nay,  the  doing  so  does  but  stamp  them  the  more 
plainly  with  that  horrid  name  from  which  they  vrould  so  fain 
escape.  Their  plea  is  for  mercy — "  Have  pity  on  me,  have  pity 
on  me ;  put  up  with  me  but  for  one  other  short  twelve  months ; 
and  then,  if  then  I  shall  still  have  failed,  I  will  be  content  to 
vanish  from  the  world  for  ever."  When  did  such  plea  for  pity 
from  one  woman  ever  find  real  entrance  into  the  heart  of  an- 
other ? 

On  such  terms,  however,  the  Misses  Neverbend  were  content 
to  follow  Mrs.  Val  to  the  Chiswick  flower-show,  and  to  feed  on 
tbe  crumbs  which  might  chance  to  fall  from   the  rich  table  of 


CHISWICK    GARDENS.  261 

Miss  Goligbtly ;  to  partake  of  broken  meat  in  the  shape  of  cast- 
off  adorers,  and  regale  themselves  with  lukewarm  civility  from 
the  outsiders  in  the  throng  which  followed  that  adorable 
heiress. 

And  yet  the  Misses  Neverbend  were  quite  as  estimable  as 
the  divine  Clementina,  and  had  once  been,  perhaps,  as  attractive 
as  she  is  now.  They  never  waltzed,  it  is  true,  as  Miss  Goligbtly 
waltzes.  It  may  be  doubted,  indeed,  whether  any  lady  ever 
did.  In  the  pursuit  of  that  amusement  TJgolina  was  apt  to  be 
stiff  and  ungainly,  and  to  turn  herself,  or  allow  herself  to  be 
turned,  as  though  she  were  made  of  wood ;  she  was  somewhat 
flat  in  her  figure,  looking  as  though  she  had  been  uncomfort- 
ably pressed  into  an  unbecoming  thinness  of  substance,  and  a 
corresponding  breadth  of  surface,  and  this  conformation  did  not 
assist  her  in  acquiring  a  graceful  flowing  style  of  motion.  The 
elder  sister,  Lactimel,  was  of  a  different  form,  but  yet  hardly 
more  fit  to  shine  in  the  mazes  of  the  dance  than  her  sister.  She 
had  her  charms,  nevertheless,  which  consisted  of  a  somewhat 
stumpy  dumpy  comeliness.  She  was  altogether  short  in  stature, 
and  very  short  below  the  knee.  She  had  fair  hair  and  a  fair 
skin,  small  bones  and  copious  soft  flesh.  She  had  a  trick  of 
sighing  gently  in  the  evolutions  of  the  waltz,  which  young  men 
attributed  to  her  softness  of  heart,  and  old  ladies  to  her  short- 
ness of  breath.  They  both  loved  dancing  dearly,  and  were  con- 
tent to  enjoy  it  whenever  the  chance  might  be  given  to  them 
by  the  aid  of  Miss  Golightly's  crumbs. 

The  two  sisters  were  as  unlike  in  their  inward  lights  as  in 
their  outward  appearance.  Lactimel  walked  ever  on  the  earth, 
but  TJgolina  never  deserted  the  clouds.  Lactimel  talked  prose 
and  professed  to  read  it ;  TJgolina  read  poetry  and  professed  to 
write  it.  Lactimel  was  utilitarian.  Cui  bono? — though  pro- 
bably in  less  classic  phrase — was  the  question  she  asked  as  to 
everything.  TJgolina  was  transcendental,  and  denied  that  there 
could  be  real  good  in  anything.  Lactimel  would  have  clothed 
and  fed  the  hungry  and  naked,  so  that  all  mankind  might  be 
comfortable.  TJgolina  would  have  brought  mankind  back  to  their 
original  nakedness,  and  have  taught  them  to  feed  on  the  grasses 
of  the  field,  so  that  the  claims  of  the  body,  which  so  vitally 
oppose  those  of  the  mind,  might  remain  unheeded  and  despised. 
They  were  both  a  little  nebulous  in  their  doctrines,  and  apt  to  be 
somewhat  unintelligible  in  their  discourse,  when  indulged  in  the 
delights  of  unrestrained  conversation.  Lactimel  had  a  theory 
that  every  poor  brother  might  eat  of  the  fat  and  drink  of  the 


262  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

sweet,  might  lie  softly,  and  w  3ar  fine  linen,  if  only  some  body 
or  bodies  could  be  induced  to  do  tlieir  duties ;  and  Ugolina  was 
equally  strong  in  a  belief  that  if  the  mind  were  properly  looked 
to,  all  appreciation  of  human  ill  would  cease.  But  they  delighted 
in  generalising  rather  than  in  detailed  propositions ;  and  had  not 
probably,  even  in  their  own  minds,  realised  any  exact  idea  as 
to  the  means  by  which  the  results  they  desired  were  to  be 
brought  about. 

They  toadied  Mrs.  Yal — poor  young  women,  how  little  should 
they  be  blamed  for  this  fault,  which  came  so  naturally  to  them 
in  their  forlorn  position  ! — they  toadied  Mrs.  Val,  and  therefore 
Mrs.  Yal  bore  with  them ;  they  bored  Gertrude,  and  Gertrude, 
for  her  husband's  sake,  bore  with  them  also;  they  were  confi- 
dential with  Clementina,  and  Clementina  of  course,  snubbed 
them.  They  called  Clementina,  "  the  sweetest  creature."  Lac- 
timel  declared  that  she  was  born  to  grace  the  position  of  a  wife 
and  mother,  and  Ugolina  swore  that  her  face  was  perfect  poetry. 
Whereupon  Clementina  laughed  aloud,  and  elegantly  made  a 
grimace  with  her  nose  and  mouth,  as  she  turned  the  "  perfect 
poetry"  to  her  mother.  Such  were  the  ladies  of  the  party  who 
went  to  the  Chiswick  flower-show,  and  who  afterwards  were  to 
figure  at  Mrs.Yal's  little  evening  "  the  dansant,"  at  which  nobody 
was  to  be  admitted  who  was  not  nice. 

They  were  met  at  the  gate  of  the  Gardens  by  a  party  of 
young  men,  of  whom  YictoireJaquetanape  was  foremost.  Alaric 
and  Charley  were  to  come  down  there  when  their  office  work 
was  done.  Undy  was  by  this  time  on  his  road  to  Tillietudlem ; 
and  Captain  Yal  was  playing  billiards  at  his  club.  The  latter 
had  given  a  promise  that  he  would  make  his  appearance — a 
promise,  however,  which  no  one  expected,  or  wished  him  to 
keep. 

The  happy  Yictoire  was  dressed  up  to  his  eyes.  That,  per- 
haps, is  not  saying  much,  for  he  was  only  a  few  feet  high ;  but 
what  he  wanted  in  quantity  he  fully  made  up  in  quality.  He 
was  a  well-made,  shining,  jaunty  little  Frenchman,  who  seemed 
to  be  perfectly  at  ease  with  himself  and  all  the  world.  He  had 
the  smallest  little  pair  of  moustaches  imaginable,  the  smallest 
little  imperial,  the  smallest  possible  pair  of  boots,  and  the  small- 
est possible  pair  of  gloves.  Nothing  on  earth  could  be  nicer, 
or  sweeter,  or  finer,  than  he  was.  But  he  did  not  carry  his 
finery  like  a  hog  in  armor,  as  an  Englishman  so  often  does 
when  an  Englishman  stoops  to  be  fine.  It  sat  as  naturally  on 
Yictoire  as  though  he  had  been  born  in  it.     He  jumped  about 


CHISWICK    GARDENS.  263 

in  his  best  patent  leather  boots,  apparent! 3^  quite  heedless  whe- 
ther he  spoilt  them  or  not ;  and  when  he  picked  up  Miss  Go- 
lightly's  parasol  from  the  gravel,  he  seemed  to  suffer  no  anxiety 
about  his  gloves. 

He  handed  out  the  ladies  one  after  another,  as  though  his 
life  had  been  passed  in  handing  out  ladies,  as,  indeed,  it  probably 
had — in  handing  them  out  and  handing  them  in  ;  and  when 
Mrs.  Aral's  "  private"  carriage  passed  on,  he  was  just  as  courteous 
to  the  Misses  Neverbend  and  Katie  in  their  cab,  as  he  had  been 
to  the  greater  ladies  who  had  descended  from  the  more  ambi- 
tious vehicle.  As  Katie  said  afterwards  to  Linda,  when  she 
found  the  free  use  of  her  voice  in  their  own  bedroom,  "  he  was 
a  darling  little  duck  of  a  man,  only  he  smelt  so  strongly  of 
tobacco." 

But  when  they  were  once  in  the  garden,  Yictoire  had  no  time 
for  any  one  but  Mrs.  Val  and  Clementina.  He  had  done  his 
duty  by  the  Misses  Neverbend  and  those  other  two  insipid  Eng- 
lish girls,  and  now  he  had  his  own  affairs  to  look  after.  He 
also  knew  that  Miss  Golightly  had  20,000/.  of  her  own  ! 

He  was  one  of  those  butterfly  beings  who  seem  to  have  been 
created  that  they  may  flutter  about  from  flower  to  flower  in  the 
smiimer  hours  of  such  gala  times  as  those  now  going  on  at 
Chiswick,  just  as  other  butterflies  do.  What  the  butterflies 
were  last  winter,  or  what  will  become  of  them  next  winter,  no 
one  but  the  naturalist  thinks  of  inquiring.  How  they  may  feed 
themselves  on  flower-juice,  or  on  insects  small  enough  to  be  their 
prey,  is  matter  of  no  moment  to  the  general  world.  It  is  suffi- 
cient that  they  flit  about  in  the  sunbeams,  and  add  bright  glanc- 
ing spangles  to  the  beauty  of  the  summer  day. 

And  so  it  was  with  Victoire  Jaquetanape.  He  did  no  work. 
He  made  no  money.  He  appeared  to  no  one  in  the  more  seri- 
ous moments  of  life.  He  was  the  reverse  of  Shylock ;  he  would 
neither  buy  with  you  nor  sell  with  you,  but  he  would  eat  with  you 
and  drink  with  you ;  as  for  praying,  he  did  little  of  that  either, 
with  or  without  company.  He  was  clothed  in  purple  and  fine 
linen,  as  butterflies  should  be  clothed,  and  fared  sumptuously 
every  day ;  but  whence  came  his  gay  colors,  or  why  people  fed 
him  with  imte  and  champagne,  nobody  knew  and  nobody  asked. 

Like  most  Frenchmen  of  his  class,  he  never  talked  about  him- 
self. He  understood  life,  and  the  art  of  pleasing,  and  the  neces- 
sity that  he  should  please,  too  well  to  do  so.  All  that  his  com- 
panions knew  of  him  was  that  he  came  from  France,  and  that 
when  the  gloomy  months  came  on  in  England,  the  months  so 


264  THE   THREE    CLEEKS. 

unfitted  for  a  French  butterfly,  Le  packed  up  his  azure  wings 
and  sought  some  more  congenial  climate,  certain  to  return  and 
be  seen  agaia  when  the  world  of  London  became  habitable. 

If  he  had  means  of  living  no  one  knew  it ;  if  he  was  in  debt 
no  one  ever  heard  of  it ;  if  he  had  a  care  in  the  world  he  con- 
cealed it.  He  abounded  in  acquaintances  who  were  always  glad 
to  see  him,  and  would  have  regarded  it  as  quite  de  tro})  to  have 
a  friend.  Nevertheless  time  w^as  flying  on  with  him  as  with 
others ;  and,  butterfly  as  he  was,  the  idea  of  Miss  Golightly's 
20,000/.  struck  him  with  delightful  amazement — 500,000  francs  ! 
500,000  francs  !  and  so  he  resolved  to  dance  his  very  best,  warm 
as  the  weather  undoubtedly  was  at  the  present  moment. 

"Ah,  he  was  charmed  to  see  madame  and  mademoiselle  look 
so  charmingly,"  he  said,  walking  between  mother  and  daughter, 
but  paying  apparently  much  the  greater  share  of  attention  to 
the  elder  lady.  In  this  respect  we  Englishmen  might  certainly 
learn  much  from  the  manners  of  our  dear  allies.  We  know  well 
enough  how  to  behave  ourselves  to  our  fair  young  country- 
women ;  we  can  be  civil  enough  to  young  women — nature 
teaches  us  that ;  but  it  is  so  seldom  that  we  are  sufficiently 
complaisant  to  be  civil  to  old  women.  And  yet  that,  after  all, 
is  the  soul  of  gallantry.  It  is  to  the  sex  that  we  profess  to  do 
homage.  Our  theory  is,  that  feminine  weakness  shall  receive 
from  man's  strength  humble  and  respectful  service.  But  where 
is  the  chivalry,  where  the  gallantry,  if  we  only  do  service  in  the 
expectation  of  receiving  such  guerdon  as  rosy  cheeks  and 
laughing  eyes  can  bestow? 

It  may  be  said  that  Victoire  had  an  object  in  being  civil  to 
Mrs.  Yal.  But  the  truth  is,  all  French  Victoires  are  courteous 
to  old  ladies.  An  Englishman  may  probably  be  as  forward  as  a 
Frenchman  in  rushing  into  a  flaming  building  to  save  an  old 
woman's  life ;  but  then  it  so  rarely  happens  that  occasion  ofters 
itself  for  gallantry  such  as  that.  A  man,  however,  may  with 
ease  be  civil  to  a  dozen  old  women  in  one  day. 

And  so  they  went  on,  walking  through  parterres  and  glass- 
houses, talking  of  theatres,  balls,  dinner-parties,  picnics,  con- 
certs, operas,  of  ladies  married  and  single,  of  single  gentlemen 
who  should  be  married,  and  of  married  gentlemen  who  should 
be  single,  of  everything,  indeed,  except  the  flowers,  of  which 
neither  Victoire  nor  his  companions  took  the  slightest  notice. 

"And  madame  really  has  a  dance  to-night  in  her  own 
house  ?" 

"O  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Val ;  "that  is,  just  a  few  quadrilles  and 


CHISWICK   GARDENS.  265 

waltzes  for  Clementina.  I  really  hardly  know  whether  the 
people  will  take  the  carpet  up  or  no."  The  people  consisting 
of  the  cook  and  housemaid, — for  the  page  had,  of  course,  come 
with  the  carriage — were  at  this  moment  hard  at  work  wrenching 
up  the  nails,  as  Mrs.  Val  was  very  well  aware. 

"  It  will  be  delightful,  charming,"  said  Victoire. 

"  Just  a  few  people  of  our  own  set,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Val ; 
"  no  crowd,  or  fuss,  or  anything  of  that  sort ;  just  a  few  people 
that  we  know  are  nice,  in  a  quiet,  homely  way." 

"  Ah,  that  is  so  pleasing,"  said  M.  Victoire  :  "  that  is  just  what 
I  like  ;  and  is  mademoiselle  engaged  for ?" 

No.  Mademoiselle  was  not  engaged  either  for — or  for — or 
for — &c.  &c.  &c. ;  and  then  out  came  the  little  tablets,  under 
the  dome  of  a  huge  greenhouse  filled  with  the  most  costly 
exotics,  and  Clementina  and  her  fellow-laborer  in  the  cause  of 
Terpsichore  went  to  work  to  make  their  arrangements  for  the 
evening. 

And  the  rest  of  the  party  followed  them.  Gertrude  was 
accompanied  by  an  Englishman  just  as  idle  and  quite  as  useless 
as  M.  Victoire,  of  tJb^^JmttsjdS^Ljtribe  also,  but  not  so  graceful, 
and  without  color. 

And  then  came  the  Misses  Neverbend  walking  together,  and 
with  them,  one  on  each  side,  two  tall  Frenchmen,  whose  faces 
had  been  remodelled  in  that  mould  into  which  so  large  a  pro- 
portion of  Parisians  of  the  present  day  force  their  heads  in 
order  that  they  might  come  out  with  some  look  of  the  Emperor 
about  them.  Were  there  not  some  such  machine  as  this  in 
operation,  it  would  be  impossible  that  so  many  Frenchmen  should 
appear  with  elongated,  angular,  hard  faces,  all  as  like  each  other 
as  though  they  were  brothers !  The  cut  of  the  beard,  the  long, 
prickly-ended,  clotted  moustache,  which  looks  as  though  it  were 
being  continually  rolled  up  in  saliva,  the  sallow,  half-bronzed, 
apparently  unwashed  color — these  may  all,  perhaps,  be  assumed 
by  any  man  after  a  certain  amount  of  labor  and  culture.  But 
how  it  has  come  to  pass  that  every  Parisian  has  been  able  to 
obtain  for  himself  a  pair  of  the  Emperor's  long,  hard,  bony, 
cruel-looking  cheeks,  no  Englishman  has  yet  been  able  to  guess. 
That  having  the  power,  they  should  have  the  wish  to  wear  this 
mask  is  almost  equally  remarkable.  Can  it  be  that  a  political 
phase  when  stamped  on  a  people  with  an  iron  hand  of  sufficient 
power  of  pressure,  will  leave  its  impress  on  the  outward  body  as 
well  as  on  the  inward  soul?  If  so,  a  Frenchman  may,  perhaps, 
be  thought  to  have  gained  in  the  apparent  stubborn  wilfulness 

12 


266  THE   THREE  CLERKS. 

of  his  countenance  some  recompense  for  his  compelled  loss  of 
all  political  wilfulness  whatever. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  two  Misses  Neverbend  walked  on,  each 
with  a  stubborn,  long-faced  Frenchman  at  her  side,  looking  alto- 
gether not  ill  pleased  at  this  instance  of  the  excellence  of  French 
manners.  After  them  came  Linda  talking  to  some  acquaintance 
of  her  own,  and  then  poor  dear  little  Katie  with  another 
Frenchman,  sterner,  more  stubborn-looking,  more  long-faced, 
more  like  the  pattern  after  whom  he  and  they  had  been  remo- 
delled, than  any  of  them. 

Poor  little  Katie  !  This  was  her  first  day  in  public.  With 
many  imploring  caresses,  with  many  half-formed  tears  in  her 
eyes,  with  many  assurances  of  her  perfect  health,  she  had 
induced  her  mother  to  allow  her  to  come  to  the  flower- 
show  ;  to  allow  her  also  to  go  to  Mrs.  Val's  dance,  at  which 
there  were  to  be  none  but  such  very  nice  people.  Katie  was  to 
commence  her  life,  to  open  her  ball  with  this  flower-show.  In 
her  imagination  it  was  all  to  be  one  long  bright  flower-show,  in 
which,  however,  the  sweet  sorrowing  of  the  sensitive  plant 
would  ever  and  anon  invite"  her  to  pity  and  tears.  When  she 
entered  that  narrow  portal  she  entered  the  world,  and  there  she 
found  herself  walking  on  the  well-mown  grass  with  this  huge, 
stern,  bearded  Frenchman  by  her  side  !  As  to  talking  to  him, 
that  was  quite  out  of  the  question.  At  the  gate  some  slight 
ceremony  of  introduction  had  been  gone  through,  which  had 
consisted  in  all  the  Frenchmen  taking  off"  their  hats  and  bowing 
to  the  two  married  ladies,  and  in  the  Englishmen  standing  behind 
and  poking  the  gravel  with  their  canes.  But  in  this  no  special 
notice  had  of  course  been  taken  of  Katie ;  and  she  had  a  kind 
of  idea,  whence  derived  she  knew  not,  that  it  would  be 
improper  for  her  to  talk  to  this  man,  unless  she  were  actually 
and  bond  fide  introduced  to  him.  And  then,  again,  poor  Katie 
was  not  very  confident  in  her  French,  and  then  her  companion 
was  not  very  intelligible  in  his  English  ;  so  when  the  gentleman 
asked,  "  Is  it  that  mademoiselle  lofe  de  fleurs  ?"  poor  little  Katie 
felt  herself  tremble,  and  tried  in  vain  to  mutter  something ;  and 
when,  again,  essaying  to  do  his  duty,  he  suggested  that  "  all  the 
beaute  of  Londres  did  delight  to  valk  itself  at  Chisveek,"  she 
was  equally  dumb,  merely  turning  on  him  her  large  eyes  for  one 
moment,  to  show  that  she  knew  that  he  addressed  her.  After 
that  he  walked  on  as  silent  as  herself,  still  keeping  close  to  her 
side ;  and  other  ladies,  who  had  not  the  good  fortune  to  have 
male  companions,  envied  her  happiness  in  being  so  attended. 


CHISWICK   GARDENS.  2G7 

But  Alaric  and  Charley  were  coming  slie  knew  ;  Alaric  was 
her  brother-in-law  now,  and  therefore  she  would  be  delighted  to 
meet  him ;  and  Charley,  dear  Charley  I  she  had  not  seen  him 
since  he  went  away  that  morning,  now  four  days  since ;  and 
four  days  was  a  long  time,  considering  that  he  had  saved  her 
life.  Her  busy  little  fingers  had  been  hard  at  work  the  while, 
and  now  she  had  in  her  pocket  the  purse  which  she  had  been 
so  eager  to  make,  and  which  she  was  almost  afraid  to  bestow. 

"  Oh,  Linda,"  she  had  said,  "  I  don't  think  I  will  after  all ;  it 
is  such  a  little  thing." 

"  Nonsense,  child,  you  wouldn't  give  him  a  worked  counter- 
pane ;  little  things  are  best  for  presents." 

*'  But  it  isn't  good  enough,"  she  said,  looking  at  her  handi- 
work in  despair.  But,  nevertheless,  she  persevered,  working  in 
the  golden  beads  with  constant  diligence,  so  that  she  might  be 
able  to  give  it  to  Charley  among  the  Chiswick  flowers.  Oh  ! 
what  a  place  it  was  in  which  to  bestow  a  present,  with  all  the 
eyes  of  the  world  upon  her ! 

And  then  this  dance  to  which  she  was  going  !  The  thought 
of  what  she  would  do  there  troubled  her.  Would  any  one  ask 
her  to  dance  ?  Would  Charley  think  of  her  when  he  had  so 
many  grown-up  girls,  girls  quite  grown  up,  all  around  him  ?  It 
would  be  very  sad  if  at  this  London  party  it  should  be  her  fate 
to  sit  down  the  whole  evening  and  see  others  dance.  It  would 
suflSce  for  her,  she  thought,  if  she  could  stand  up  with  Linda, 
but  she  had  an  idea  that  this  would  not  be  allowed  at  a  London 
party ;  and  then  Linda,  perhaps,  might  not  like  it.  Altogether 
she  had  much  upon  her  mind,  and  was  beginning  to  think  that, 
perhaps,  she  might  have  been  happier  to  have  stayed  at  home 
with  her  mamma.  She  had  not  quite  recovered  from  the  effect 
of  her  toss  into  the  water,  or  the  consequent  excitement,  and  a 
very  little  misery  would  upset  her.  And  so  she  walked  on  with 
her  Napoleonic  companion,  from  whom  she  did  not  know  how 
to  free  herself,  through  one  glass-house  after  another,  across 
lawns  and  along  paths,  attempting  every  now  and  then  to  get  a 
word  with  Linda,  and  not  at  all  so  happy  as  she  had  hoped  to 
have  been. 

At  last  Gertrude  came  to  her  rescue.  They  were  all  congre- 
gated for  a  while  in  one  great  flower-house,  and  Gertrude, 
finding  herself  near  her  sister,  asked  her  how  she  liked  it  all. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  very  beautiful,"  said  Katie,  "  only "  i 

"  Only  what,  dear  ?" 

"  Would  you  let  me  come  with  you  a  little  while  ?     Look 


268  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

liere" — and  slie  crept  softly  around  to  the  other  side  of  her  sister, 
and  sidling  with  little  steps  away  from  the  Frenchman,  at  whom, 
however,  she  kept  furtively  looking,  as  though  she  feared  that 
he  would  detect  her  in  the  act.  "  Look  here,  Gertrude,"  she 
said,  twitching  her  sister's  arm  ;  "  that  gentleman  there — you 
see  him,  don't  you  ?  he's  a  Frenchman,  and  I  don't  know  liow 
to  get  away  from  him." 

"  How  to  get  away  from  him  ?"  said  Gertrude.  "  That's  M. 
Delabarbe  de  I'Empereur,  a  great  friend  of  Mrs.  Yal's,  and  a 
very  quiet  sort  of  man  I  believe  ;  he  won't  eat  you." 

"  No,  he  won't  eat  me,  I  know  ;  but  I  can't  look  at  anything, 
because  he  will  walk  so  close  to  me !  Mayn't  I  come  with 
you  ?" 

Gertrude  told  her  she  might,  and  so  Katie  made  good  her 
escape,  hiding  herself  from  her  enemy  as  well  as  she  could 
behind  her  sister's  petticoats.  He,  poor  man,  was  perhaps  as 
rejoiced  at  the  arrangement  as  Katie  herself ;  at  any  rate,  he 
made  no  attempt  to  regain  his  prey,  but  went  on  by  himself, 
looking  as  placidly  stern  as  ever,  till  he  was  absorbed  by  Mrs. 
Val's  more  immediate  party,  and  then  he  devoted  himself  to 
her,  while  M.  Jaquetanape  settled  with  Clementina  the  pro- 
perest  arrangement  for  the  waltzes  of  the  evening. 

Katie  was  beginning  to  be  tranquilly  happy,  and  was  listen- 
ing to  the  enthusiasm  of  TJgolina  Neverbend,  who  declared  that 
flowers  were  the  female  poet's  fitting  food — it  may  be  doubted 
whether  she  had  ever  tried  it — when  her  heart  leaped  within 
her  on  hearing  a  sharp,  clear,  well-known  voice,  almost  close 
behind  her.  It  was  Charley  Tudor.  After  her  silent  promenade 
with  M.  Delabarbe  de  I'Empereur,  Katie  had  been  well  pleased 
to  put  up  with  the  obscure,  but  yet  endurable  volubility  of 
Ugolina;  but  now  she  felt  almost  as  anxious  to  get  quit 
of  Ugolina  as  she  had  before  been  to  shake  off  the  Frenchman. 

"  Flowers  are  Nature's  chef-d'oeuvre,"  said  Ugolina ;  "  they 
convey  to  me  the  purest  and  most  direct  essence  of  that  heavenly 
power  of  production  which  is  the  sweetest  evidence  which 
Jehovah  gives  us  of  his  presence." 

"Do  they?"  said  Katie,  looking  over  her  shoulder  to  watch 
what  Charley  was  doing,  and  to  see  whether  he  was  coming  to 
notice  her. 

"  They  are  the  bright  stars  of  his  immediate  handiwork,"  said 
Ugolina  ;  "  and  if  our  dim  eyes  could  read  them  aright,  they 
would  whisper  to  us  the  secret  of  his  love." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  they  would,"  said  Katie,  who  felt,  perhaps, 


cms  WICK   GARDENS.  269 

a  little  disappointed  because  Charley  lingered  a  while  shaking 
hands  with  Mrs.  Yal  and  Clementina  Golightly. 

It  was,  however,  but  for  a  moment.  There  was  much  shaking 
of  hands  to  be  done,  and  a  considerable  taking  off  of  hats  to  be 
gone  through  ;  and  as  Alaric  and  Charley  encountered  the 
head  of  the  column  first,  it  was  only  natural  that  they  should 
work  their  way  through  it  gradually.  Katie,  however,  never 
guessed — how  could  she  ? — that  Charley  had  calculated  that  by 
reaching  her  last  he  would  be  able  to  remain  with  her. 

She  was  still  listening  to  Ugolina,  Avho  was  mounting  higher 
and  higher  up  to  heaven,  when  she  found  her  hand  in  Charley's. 
Ugolina  might  now  mount  up,  and  get  down  again  as  best  she 
could,  for  Katie  could  no  longer  listen  to  her. 

Alaric  had  not  seen  her  yet  since  her  ducking.  She  had  to 
listen  to  and  to  answer  his  congratulations,  Charley  standing  by 
and  making  his  comments. 

"  Charley  says  you  took  to  the  water  quite  naturally,  and 
swam  like  a  duck,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Only  she  went  in  head  foremost,"  said  Charley. 

"  All  bathers  ought  to  do  that,"  said  Alaric  ;  "  and  tell  me, 
Katie,  did  you  feel  comfortable  when  you  were  in  the  water  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  recollect  anything  about  it,"  said  she,  "  only 
that  I  saw  Charley  coming  to  me,  just  when  I  was  going  to  sink 
for  the  last  time." 

"  Sink  !     Why  I'm  told  that  you  floated  like  a  deal  board." 

"  The  big  hat  and  the  crinoline  kept  her  up,"  said  Charley ; 
"  she  had  no  idea  of  sinking." 

"  Oh  !  Charley,  you  know  I  was  under  the  water  for  a  long 
time  ;  and  that  if  you  had  not  come,  just  at  that  very  moment, 
I  should  never  have  come  up  again." 

And  then  Alaric  went  on,  and  Charley  and  Katie  were  left 
together. 

How  was  she  to  give  him  the  purse  ?  It  was  burning  a  hole 
in  her  pocket  till  she  could  do  so ;  and  yet  how^  was  she  to  get 
it  out  of  her  possession  into  his,  and  make  her  little  speech, 
here  in  the  public  garden  ?  She  could  have  done  it  easily 
enough  at  home  in  the  drawing-room  at  Surbiton  Cottage. 

"  And  how  do  you  like  the  gardens  ?"  asked  Charley. 

"Oh  !  they  are  beautiful;  but  I  have  hardly  been  able  to  see 
anything  yet.  I  have  been  going  about  with  a  great  big  French- 
man— there,  that  man  there — he  has  such  a  queer  name." 

"  Did  his  name  prevent  your  seeing  ?" 

"  No,  not  his  name ;  I  didn't  know  his  name  then.     But  it 


2V0  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

seemed  so  odd  to  be  walking  about  with  sucL.  a  man  as  that. 
But  I  want  to  go  back,  and  look  at  the  black  and  yellow  roses 
in  that  house,  there.  Would  you  go  with  me?  that  is,  if  we 
may.     I  wonder  whether  we  may  !" 

Charley  was  clearly  of  opinion  that  they  might,  and  should, 
and  would  ;  and  so  away  they  sallied  back  to  the  roses,  and 
Katie  began  to  enjoy  the  first  instalment  of  the  happiness  which 
she  had  anticipated.  In  the  temple  of  the  roses,  the  crowd  at 
first  was  great,  and  she  could  not  get  the  purse  out  of  her 
pocket,  nor  make  her  speech  ;  but  after  a  while  the  people 
passed  on,  and  there  was  a  lull  before  others  filled  their  places, 
and  Katie  found  herself  opposite  to  a  beautiful  black  rose,  with 
no  one  close  to  her  but  Charley. 

"  I  have  got  something  for  you,"  she  said  ;  and  as  she  spoke 
she  felt  herself  to  be  almost  hot  with  blushing. 

"  Something  for  me  !"  said  Charley  ;  and  he  also  felt  himself 
abashed,  he  did  not  know  why. 

"  It's  only  a  very  little  thing,"  said  Katie,  feeling  in  her  pocket, 
"and  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  ask  you  to  take  it.  But  I  made 
it  all  myself;  no  one  else  put  a  stitch  in  it,"  and  so  saying,  and 
looking  round  to  see  that  she  was  not  observed,  she  handed 
her  gift  to  Charley. 

"  Oh  !  Katie,  dearest  Katie,"  said  he,  "  I  am  so  much  obliged 
to  you— I'll  keep  it  till  I  die." 

"  I  didn't  know  what  to  make  that  was  better,"  said  she. 

"  Nothing  on  earth  could  possibly  be  better,"  said  he. 

"  A  plate  of  bread  and  butter,  and  a  purse,  are  a  very  poor 
return  for  saving  one's  life,"  said  she,  half  laughing,  half  crying. 

He  looked  at  her  with  his  eyes  full  of  love  ;  and  as  he  looked 
he  swore  within  himself  that  come  what  might,  he  would  never 
see  Norah  Geraghty  again,  but  would  devote  his  life  to  an 
endeavor  to  make  himself  worthy  of  .the  angel  that  was  now  with 
him.  Katie,  the  while,  was  looking  up  anxiously  into  his  face. 
She  was  thinking  of  no  other  love  than  that  which  it  became 
her  to  feel  for  the  man  who  had  saved  her  life.  She  was  think- 
ing of  no  other  love  ;  but  her  young  heart  was  opening  itself  to 
a  very  difi'erent  feeling.  She  was  sinking  deep,  deep,  in  waters 
which  were  to  go  near  to  drown  her  warm  heart ;  much  nearer 
than  those  other  waters  which  she  fancied  had  all  but  closed  for 
ever  over  her  life. 

She  looked  into  his  face  and  saw  that  he  was  pleased ;  and 
that,  for  the  present,  was  enough  for  her.  She  was  at  any  rate 
happy  nowc     So  they  passed  on  through  the  roses,  and  then 


CHISWICK   GARDENS.  271 

lost  themselves  among  the  geraniums,  and  wondered  at  the  gi- 
gantic rhododendrons  and  beautiful  azaleas,  and  so  went  on  from 
house  to  house,  and  from  flower-bed  to  flower-bed,  Katie  talking 
and  Charley  listening,  till  she  began  to  wonder  at  her  former 
supincness,  and  to  say  both  to  herself  and  out  loud  to  her  com- 
panion, how  very,  very,  very  glad  she  was  that  her  mother  had 
let  her  come. 

Poor  Katie  ! — dear,  darling,  bonny  Katie  ! — sweet,  sweetest, 
dearest  child !  why,  oh  why,  has  that  mother  of  thine,  that 
tender-hearted,  loving  mother,  put  thee  unguarded  in  the  way 
of  such  peril  as  this  ?  Has  she  not  sworn  to  herself  that  over 
thee  at  least  she  would  watch  as  a  hen  does  over  her  young, 
so  that  no  unfortunate  love  should  quench  thy  young  spirit,  or 
blanch  thy  cheeks  bloom?  Has  she  not  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  what  would  have  befallen  thee,  had  thy  fate  been 
such  as  Linda's  ?  Has  she  not  often — oh,  how  often  ! — on  her 
knees  thanked  the  Almighty  God  that  Linda's  spirit  was  not  as 
thine  ;  that  this  evil  had  happened  to  the  lamb  whose  temper 
had  been  fitted  by  him  to  endure  it  ?  And  yet — here  thou  art 
— all  unguarded,  all  unaided,  left  by  thyself  to  drink  of  the  cup 
of  sweet  poison,  and  none  near  to  warn  thee  that  the  draught  is 
deadly. 

Alas  ! — 'twould  be  useless  to  warn  thee  now.  The  false  god 
has  been  placed  upon  the  altar,  the  temple  all  shining  with 
gems  and  gold  has  been  built  around  him,  the  incense-cup  is 
already  swinging ;  nothing  will  now  turn  the  idolater  from  her 
worship,  nothing  short  of  a  miracle. 

Our  Katie's  childish  days  are  now  all  gone.  A  woman's  pas- 
sion glows  within  her  breast,  though  as  yet  she  has  not  scanned 
it  with  a  woman's  intelligence.  Her  mother,  listening  to  a 
child's  entreaty,  had  suftered  her  darling  to  go  forth  for  a  child's 
amusement.  It  was  doomed  that  the  child  should  return  no 
more;  but  in  lieu  of  her,  a  fair,  heart-laden  maiden,  whose 
every  fondest  thought  must  henceforth  be  of  a  stranger's  wel- 
fare and  a  stranger's  fate. 

But  it  must  not  be  thought  that  Charley  abused  the  friend- 
ship of  Mrs.  Woodward,  and  made  love  to  Katie,  as  love  is 
usually  made — with  warm  words,  assurances  of  afl"ection,  with 
squeezing  of  the  hand,  with  sighs,  and  all  a  lovers  ordinary 
catalogue  of  resources.  Though  we  have  said  that  he  was  a 
false  god,  yet  he  was  hardly  to  be  blamed  for  the  temple,  and 
gems,  and  gold,  with  which  he  was  endowed ;  not  more  so,  per- 
haps, than  the  unconscious  bird  which  is  made  so  sacred  on  the 


272  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

banks  of  the  Egyptian  river.  He  loved  too,  perhaps  as  warmly 
though  not  so  fatally  as  Katie  did ;  but  he  spoke  no  word  of 
his  love.  He  walked  among  the  flowers  with  her,  laughing 
and  listening  to  her  in  his  usual  light-hearted,  easy  manner ; 
every  now  and  again  his  arm  would  thrill  with  pleasure,  as  he 
felt  on  it  the  touch  of  her  little  fingers,  and  his  heart  would 
leap  within  him  as  he  gazed  on  the  speaking  beauty  of  her 
face;  but  he  was  too  honest-hearted  to  talk.to  the  young  girl, 
to  Mrs.  Woodward's  child,  of  love.  He  talked  to  her  as  to  a 
child — but  she  listened  to  him  and  loved  him  as  a  woman. 

And  so  they  rambled  on  till  the  hour  appointed  for  quitting 
this  Elysium  had  arrived.  Every  now  and  again  they  had  a 
glimpse  of  some  one  of  their  party,  which  had  satisfied  Katie 
that  they  were  not  lost.  At  first  Clementina  was  seen  tracing 
with  her  parasol  on  the  turf  the  plan  of  a  new  dance.  Then 
TJgolina  passed  by  them  describing  the  poetry  of  the  motion 
of  the  spheres  in  a  full  flow  of  impassioned  eloquence  to  M. 
Delabarbe  de  I'Empereur  :  "  Cest  toujours  vrai;  ce  que  made- 
moiselle dit  est  toujours  vrai^^''  was  the  Frenchman's  answer, 
which  they  heard  thrice  repeated.  And  then  Lactimel  and 
Captain  Yal  were  seen  together,  the  latter  having  disappointed 
the  prophecies  which  had  been  made  respecting  him.  Lacti- 
mel had  an  idea  that  as  the  Scotts  were  great  people,  they  were 
all  in  Parliament,  and  she  was  endeavoring  to  persuade  Cap- 
tain Yal  that  something  ought  to  be  done  for  the  poor. 

"  Think,"  said  she,  "  only  think,  Captain  Scott,  of  all  the  mo- 
ney that  this  f^te  must  cost." 

"  A  doosed  sight,"  said  the  captain,  hardly  articulating  from 
under  his  thick,  sandy-colored  moustache,  which,  growing 
downwards  from  his  nose,  looked  like  a  heavy  thatch  put  on  to 
protect  his  mouth  from  the  inclemency  of  the  clouds  above. 
"  A  doosed  sight,"  said  the  captain. 

"Now  suppose.  Captain  Scott,  that  all  this  money  could  be 
collected.     The  tickets,  you  know,  and  the  dresses,  and " 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  do  it,"  said  the  captain. 

Lactimel  went  on  with  her  little  scheme  for  expending  the 
cost  of  the  flower-show  in  bread  and  bacon  for  the  poor  Irish 
of  Saffron  Hill ;  but  Charley  and  Katie  heard  no  more,  for  the 
mild  philosopher  passed  out  of  hearing  and  out  of  sight. 

At  last  Katie  got  a  poke  in  her  back  from  a  parasol,  just  as 
Charley  had  expended  half-a-crown,  one  of  Mr.  M'Ruen's  last, 
in  purchasing  for  her  one  simple  beautiful  flower,  to  put  into 
her  hair  that  night. 


Katie's  first  ball.  2*73 

"  You  naughty  puss  !"  said  Gertrude,  "  we  have  been  looking 
for  vou  all  over  the  gardens.  Mrs.  Val  and  the  Miss  Never- 
bends  have  been  waiting  this  half  hour."  Katie  looked  terribly 
fiightened.  "Come  along,  and  don't  keep  them  waiting  any 
longer.  They  are  all  in  the  passage.  This  was  your  fault, 
Master  Charley." 

"O  no,  it  was  not,"  said  Katie;  "but  we  thought " 

"Never  mind  thinking,"  said  Gertrude,  "but  come  along." 
And  so  they  hurried  on,  and  were  soon  replaced  in  their 
respective  vehicles,  and  then  went  back  to  town. 

"  Well,  I  do  think  the  Chiswick  Gardens  is  the  nicest  place 
in  all  the  world,"  said  Katie,  leaning  back  in  the  cab,  and 
meditating  on  her  past  enjoyment. 

"  They  are  very  pretty — very,"  said  Lactimel  Neverbend, 
"  I  only  wish  every  cotter  had  such  a  garden  behind  his 
cottage.  I  am  sure  we  might  manage  it,  if  we  set  about  it  in 
the  right  way.^' 

"  What !  as  big  as  Chiswick  ?"  said  Katie. 

"  No ;  not  so  big,"  said  Lactimel ;  "  but  quite  as  nicely  kept." 

*^I  think  the  pigs  would  get  in,"  said  Katie. 

"  It  would  be  much  easier,  and  more  important  too,  to  keep 
their  minds  nicely,"  said  Ugolina  ;  "  and  there  the  pigs  could 
never  get  in." 

"  No  ;  I  suppose  not,"  said  Katie. 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Lactimel. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


In  spite  of  Mrs.  Yal's  oft-repeated  assurance  that  they  would 
have  none  but  nice  people,  she  had  done  her  best  to  fill  her 
rooms,  and  not  unsuccessfully.  She  had,  it  is  true,  eschewed 
the  Golightly  party,  who  resided  some  north  of  Oxford  Street, 
in  the  purlieus  of  Fitzroy  Square,  and  some  even  to  the  east  of 
Tottenham  Court  Road.  She  had  eschewed  the  Golightlys, 
and  confined  herself  to  the  Scott  connection  ;  but  so  great  had 
been  her  success  in  life,  that,  even  under  these  circumstances, 
she  had  found  herself  able  to  fill  her  rooms  respectably.  If, 
indeed,  there  was  no  absolute  crowding,  if  some  space  was  left 
in  the  front  drawing-room  sufficient  for  the  operations  of 
dancers,  she  could  still  attribute  this  apparent  want  of  fashion- 
able popularity  to  the  selectness  of  the  few  nice  people  whom 

12^ 


274  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

she  had  asked.  The  Hon.  Mrs.  Yal  was  no  ordinary  woman, 
and  understood  well  how  to  make  the  most  of  the  goods  with 
which  the  gods  provided  her. 

The  Miss  Neverbends  were  to  dine  with  the  Tudors,  and  go 
with  them  to  the  dance  in  the  evening,  and  their  brother  Fidus 
was  to  meet  them  there.  Charley  was,  of  course,  one  of  the 
party  at  dinner ;  and  as  there  was  no  other  gentleman  there, 
Alaric  had  an  excellent  opportunity,  when  the  ladies  went  up 
to  their  toilets,  to  impress  on  his  cousin  the  expediency  of  his 
losing  no  time  in  securing  to  himself  Miss  Golightly's  twenty 
thousand  pounds.  The  conversation,  as  will  be  seen,  at  last 
became  rather  animated. 

"  Well,  Charley,  what  do  you  think  of  the  beautiful  Clemen- 
tina ?"  said  Alaric,  pushing  over  the  bottle  to  his  cousin,  as 
soon  as  they  found  themselves  alone.  "  A  '  doosed' fine  girl, 
as  Captain  Val  says,  isn't  she  ?" 

"  A  '  doosed'  fine  girl,  of  course,"  said  Charley,  laughing. 
"  She  has  too  much  go  in  her  for  me,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Marriage  and  children  will  soon  pull  that  down.  She'd 
make  an  excellent  wife  for  such  a  man  as  you  ;  and  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  Charley,  if    you'll  take  my  advice,  you'll  lose    no 

time  in  making  up  to  her.     She  has  got  that  d French 

fellow  at  her  heels,  and  though  I  don't  suppose  she  cares  one 
straw  about  him,  it  may  be  well  to  make  sure." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  in  earnest  that  you  think  that  Miss 
Golightly  would  have  me  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do — you  are  just  the  man  to  get  on  with  girls ; 
and,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  you  are  just  the  man  that  will  never 
get  on  in  any  other  way  under  the  sun." 

Charley  sighed  as  he  thought  of  his  many  debts,  his  poor 
prospects,  and  his  passionate  l^ve.  There  seemed,  indeed,  to 
be  little  chance  that  he  ever  would  get  on  at  all  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word.  "  I'm  sure  she'd  refuse  me,"  said  he,  still 
wishing  to  back  out  of  the  difliculty.  "  I'm  sure  she  would — 
I've  not  got  a  penny  in  the  world,  you  know  " 

"  That's  just  the  reason — she  has  got  lots  of  money,  and  you 
have  got  none." 

"  Just  the  reason  why  she  should  refuse  me,  you  should  say." 

"  Well — what  if  she  does  ?  There's  no  harm  done.  '  Faint 
heart  never  won  fair  lady.'  You've  everything  to  back  you — 
Mrs.  Val  is  led  by  Undy  Scott,  and  Undy  is  all  on  your  side." 

"  But  she  has  got  guardians,  hasn't  she  ?" 

"  Yes — her  father's  first  cousin.  Old  Sam  Golightly.     He  is 


Katie's  first  ball.  275 

dying ; — or  dead  probably  by  this  time  ;  only  Mrs.  Val  won't 
have  the  news  brought  to  her,  because  of  this  party.  He  had 
a  fit  of  apoplexy  yesterday.  Then  there's  her  father's  brother- 
in-law,  Figgs  ;  he's  bedridden.  AYhen  old  Golightly  is  off  the 
hooks  altogether,  another  will  be  chosen,  and  IJndy  talks  of 
putting  in  my  name  as  that  of  a  flmiily  friend  ;  so  you'll  have 
everything  to  assist  you." 

Charley  looked  very  grave.  He  had  not  been  in  the  habit 
of  discussing  such  matters,  but  it  seemed  to  him,  that  if  Alaric 
was  about  to  become  in  any  legal  manner  the  guardian  of  Miss 
Golightly's  fortune,  that  that  in  itself  was  reason  enough  why 
he,  xVlaric,  should  not  propose  such  a  match  as  this.  Needy 
men,  to  be  sure,  did  often  marry  rich  ladies,  and  the  world 
looked  on  and  regarded  it  only  as  a  matter  of  course;  but 
surely  it  would  be  the  duty  of  a  guardian  to  protect  his  ward 
fi'om  such  a  fate,  if  it  were  in  his  power  to  do  so. 

Alaric,  who  saw  something  of  what  was  going  on  in  his 
cousin's  mind,  essayed  to  remove  the  impression  which  was  thus 
made.  "  Besides,  you  know,  Clementina  is  no  chicken.  Her 
fortune  is  at  her  own  disposal.  All  the  guardians  on  earth  can- 
not prevent  her  marrying  you  if  she  makes  up  her  mind  to  do 
so." 

Charley  gulped  down  his  glass  of  wine,  and  then  sat  staring 
at  the  fire,  saying  nothing  further.  It  was  true  enough  that  he 
was  very  poor — true  enough  that  Miss  Golightly's  fortune  would 
set-4iim  on  his  legs,  and-nrake  a  man  of  him — true  enough,  per- 
haps, that  no  other  expedient  of  which  he  could  think  would  do 
so.  But  then  there  were  so  many  arguments  that  were  "  strong 
against  the  deed."  In  the  first  place,  he  thought  it  impossible 
that  he  should  be  successful  in  such  a  suit,  and  then  again  it 
would  hardly  be  honest  to  obtain  such  success,  if  it  were  possi- 
ble; then,  thirdly,  he  had  no  sort  of  aflfection  w^hatsoever  for 
Miss  Golightly ;  and  fourthly,  lastly,  and  chiefly,  he  loved,  so 
dearly,  tenderly,  loved  poor  Katie  AVoodward. 

As  he  thought  of  this,  he  felt  horror-stricken  with  himself  at 
allowing  the  idea  of  his  becoming  a  suitor  to  another  to  dwell 
for  an  instant  on  his  mind,  and  looking  up  with  all  the  resolu- 
tion which  he  was  able  to  summon — he  said — "  It's  impossible, 
Alaric,  quite  impossible !     I  couldn't  do  it." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?"  said  Alaric,  who  was  angry 
at  having  his  scheme  thus  thwarted ;  "  do  you  mean  to  be  a 
beggar  ? — or  if  not,  how  do  you  intend  to  get  out  of  your  diffi- 
culties ?" 


2*76  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

"I  trust  not  a  beggar,"  said  Charley,  sadly. 

"  What  other  hope  have  you  ?  what  rational  hope  of  setting 
yourself  right?" 

"  Perhaps  I  may  do  something  by  writing,"  said  Charley,  very 
bashfully. 

"  By  writing !  ha,  ha,  ha,"  and  Alaric  laughed  somewhat 
cruelly  at  the  poor  navvy — "  do  something  by  writing?  what 
will  you  do  by  writing  ?  will  you  make  20,000Z. — or  20,000 
pence  ?  Of  all  trades  going,  that,  I  should  say,  is  likely  to  be 
the  poorest  for  a  poor  man — the  poorest,  and  the  most  heart- 
breaking.    What  have  you  made  already  to  encourage  you  ?" 

"  The  editor  says  that  '  Crinoline  and  Macassar'  will  come  to 
41.  106\" 

"  And  when  will  you  get  it  ?" 

"The  editor  says  that  the  rule  is  to  pay  six  months  after  the 
date  of  publication.  The  '  Daily  Delight'  is  only  a  new  thing, 
you  know.  The  editor  says  that,  if  the  sale  comes  up  to  his 
expectations,  he  will  increase  the  scale  of  pay." 

"A  prospect  of  41.  10s.  for  a  fortnight's  hard  work!  That's 
a  bad  look-out,  my  boy ;  you  had  better  take  the  heiress." 

"  It  may  be  a  bad  look-out,"  said  Charley,  whose  spirit  was 
raised  by  his  cousin's  sneers, — "  but  at  any  rate  it's  honest.  And 
I'll  tell  you  what,  Alaric,  I'd  sooner  earn  501.  by  writing  for  the 
press,  than  get  1,000Z.  in  any  other  way  you  can  think  of.  It 
may  be  a  poor  trade  in  one  way ;  and  authors,  I  believe,  are 
poor;  but  I  am  sure  it  has  its  consolations." 

"  Well,  Charley,  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  you  may  find 
them.  For  my  own  part,  seeing  what  a  place  the  world  is, 
seeing  what  are  the  general  aspirations  of  other  men,  seeing 
what,  as  it  appears  to  me,  the  Creator  has  intended  for  the  goal 
of  our  labors,  I  look  for  advancement,  prosperity,  and  such 
rank  and  station  as  I  may  be  able  to  win  for  myself.  The  laborer 
is  worthy  of  his  hire,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  refuse  such  wages 
as  may  come  in  my  way." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charley,  who,  now  that  his  spirit  was  roused, 
determined  to  fight  his  battle  manfully,  "  yes,  the  laborer  is 
worthy  of  his  hire  ;  but  were  I  to  get  Miss  Golightly's  fortune, 
I  should  be  taking  the  hire^without  labor." 

"  Bah  !"  said  Alaric." •''"'' 

"  It  would  be  dishonest  in  every  way,  for  I  do  not  love  her, 
and  should  not  love  her  at  the  moment  that  I  married  her." 

"  Honesty  !"  said  Alaric,  still  sneering  ;  "  there  is  no  sign  of 
the  dishonesty  of  the  age  so  strong  as  the  continual  talk  which 


KATIE'S   FIRST   BALL.  277 

one  hears  about  hoTiesty !"  It  was  quite  manifest  that  Alaric 
had  not  sat  at  thejfeet  of  Undy  Scott  without  profiting  by  the 
lessons  which  he  had  heard.  "  AVith  what  face,"  continued  he, 
"  can  you  pretend  to  be  more  honest  than  your  neighbors  ?" 

"  I  know  that  it  is  wrong,  and  unmanly  too,  to  hunt  a  girl  down 
merely  for  what  she  has  got." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  wrong  and  unmanly  men  about 
then,"  said  Alaric.  "  Look  through  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
and  see  how  many  men  there  have  married  for  money ;  ay, 
and  made  excellent  husbands  afterwards.  I'll  tell  you  what  it 
is,  Charley,  it  is  all  humbug  in  you  to  pretend  to  be  better  than 
others  ;  you  are  cpt  a  bit  better ;  mind,  I  do  not  say  you  are 
worse.  We  have  noiTB-^Trs  too  much  of  this  honesty  of  which 
we  are  so  fond  of  prating.  AVhere  was  your  honesty  when  you 
ordered  the  coat  for  which  you  know  you  cannot  pay  ?  or  when 
you  swore  to  the  bootmaker  that  he  should  have  the  amount 
of  his  little  bill  after  next  quarter  day,  knowing  in  your  heart 
at  the  time  that  he  wouldn't  get  a  farthing  of  it  ?  If  you  are 
so  honest,  why  did  you  v/aste  your  money  to-day  in  going  to 
Chiswick,  instead  of  paying  some  portion  of  your  debts  ?  Honest ! 
you  are,  I  dare  say,  indifferently  honest  as  the  world  goes,  like 
the  rest  of  us.  But  I  think  you  might  put  the  burden  of 
Clementina's  fortune  on  your  conscience  without  feeling  much 
the  worse  for  it,  after  what  you  have  already  gone  through." 

Charley  became  very  red  in  the  face  as  he  sat  silent,  listening  to 
Alaric's  address — nor  did  he  speak  at  once  at  the  first  pause,  so 
Alaric  went  on.  "  The  truth,  I  take  it,  is,  that  at  the  present 
moment  you  have  no  personal  fancy  for  this  girl." 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  said  Charley. 

"And  you  are  so  incredibly  careless  as  to  all  prudential  con- 
siderations as  to  prefer  your  immediate  personal  fancies  to  the 
future  welfare  of  your  whole  life.  I  can  say  no  more.  If  you 
will  think  well  of  my  proposition,  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  assist 
you.  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  make  a  good  husband  to 
Miss  Golightly,  and  that  she  would  be  very  happy  with  you. 
If  you  think  otherwise  there  is  an  end  of  it ;  but  pray  do  not 
talk  so  much  about  your  honesty, — your  tailor  would  arrest  you 
to-morrow  if  he  heard  you." 

"  There  are  two  kinds  of  honesty,  I  take  it,"  said  Charley, 
speaking  with  suppressed  anger  and  sorrow  visible  in  his  face, 
"  that  which  the  world  sees  and  that  which  it  does  not  see. 
For  myself,  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  my  own  defence.  I  have 
made  my  bed  badly,  and  must  lie  on  it  as  it  is.     I  certainly  will 


278  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

not  mend  it  by  marrying  a  girl  that  I  can  never  love.  And  as 
for  you,  Alaric,  all  who  know  you  and  love  you,  watch  your 
career  with  the  greatest  hope.  We  know  your  ambition,  and 
all  look  to  see  you  rise  in  the  world.  But  in  rising,  as  you  wall 
ido,  you  should  remember  this — that  nothing  that  is  wrong  can 
x>ecome  right  because  other  people  do  it." 

"  Well,  Charley,"  said  the  other,  "  thank  you  for  the  lecture. 
I  did  not  certainly  expect  it  from  you ;  but  it  is  not  on  that 
account  the  less  welcome.  And  now,  suppose  we  go  up  stairs 
and  dress  for  Mrs.  Val ;"  and  so  they  went  up  stairs. 

Katie's  heart  beat  high  as  she  got  out  of  the  carriage — Mrs. 
Yal's  private  carriage  had  been  kept  on  for  the  occasion — and 
saw  before  and  above  her  on  the  stairs,  a  crowd  of  muslin 
crushing  its  way  on  towards  the  room  prepared  for  dancing. 
Katie  had  never  been  to  a  ball  before.  We  hope  that  the  word 
ball  may  not  bring  down  on  us  the  adverse  criticism  of  the 
"  Morning  Post."  It  was  probably  not  a  ball  in  the  strictly 
fashionable  sense  of  the  word,  but  it  w^as  so  to  Katie  to  all 
intents  and  purposes.  Her  dancing  had  hitherto  been  done 
either  at  children's  parties,  or  as  a  sort  of  supplemental  amuse- 
ment to  the  evening  tea-gatherings  at  Hampton  or  Hampton 
Court.  She  had  never  yet  seen  the  muse  w^orshipped  with  the 
premeditated  ceremony  of  banished  carpets,  chalked  floors,  and 
hired  musicians.  Her  heart  consequently  beat  high  as  she  made 
her  way  up  stairs,  linked  arm-in-arm  with  Ugolina  Neverbend. 

"  Shall  you  dance  much  ?"  said  Ugolina. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so,"  said  Katie. 

"  I  shall  not.  It  is  an  amusement  of  which  I  am  peculiarly 
fond,  and  for  which  my  active  habits  suit  me."  This  was 
probably  said  with  some  allusion  to  her  sister,  who  was  apt  to 
be  short  of  breath.  "  But  in  the  dances  of  the  present  day 
conversation  is  impossible,  and  I  look  upon  any  pursuit  as 
barbaric  which  stops  the  'feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul.'  " 

Katie  did  not  quite  understand  this,  but  she  thought  in  her 
heart  that  she  would  not  at  all  mind  giving  up  talking  for  the 
whole  evening  if  she  could  only  get  dancing  enough.  But  on 
this  matter  her  heart  misgave  her.  To  be  sure  she  was  engaged 
to  Charley  for  the  first  quadrille  and  second  w^altz  ;  but  there 
her  engagements  stopped,  whereas  Clementina,  as  she  was 
aware,  had  a  whole  book  of  them.  What  if  she  could  get  no 
more  dancing  when  Charley's  good-nature  should  have  been 
expended  ?  She  had  an  idea  that  no  one  w^ould  care  to  dance 
with  her  when  older  partners  were  to  be  had.     Ah,  Katie,  you 


KATIE'S    FIRST   BALL.  21 0 

do  not  yet  know  the  extent  of  your  riches,  or  half  the  wealth 
of  your  own  attractions  ! 

And  then  they  all  heard  another  little  speech  from  Mrs.  Val. 
"  She  was  really  quite  ashamed — she  really  was — to  see  so 
many  people ;  she  could  not  wish  any  of  her  guests  away,  that 
would  be  impossible, — though  perhaps  one  or  two  might  be 
spared,"  she  said  in  a  confidential  whisper  to  Gertrude.  Who 
the  one  or  two  might  be  it  would  be  difficult  to  decide,  as  she 
had  made  the  same  whisper  to  every  one  ;  "  but  she  really  was 
ashamed  ;  there  was  almost  a  crowd,  and  she  had  quite  intended 
that  the  house  should  be  nearly  empty.  The  fact  was  every- 
body asked  had  come,  and  as  she  could  not,  of  course,  have 
counted,  on  that,  why  she  had  got,  you  see,  twice  as  many 
people  as  she  had  expected."  And  then  she  went  on,  and 
made  the  same  speech  to  the  next  arrival. 

Katie,  who  wanted  to  begin  the  play  at  the  beginning,  kept 
her  eye  anxiously  on  Charley,  who  was  still  standing  with 
Lactimel  Neverbend  on  his  arm.  "  Oh,  now,"  said  she  to 
herself,  "  if  he  should  forget  me  and  begin  dancing  with  Miss 
Neverbend  !"  But  then  she  remembered  how  he  had  jumped 
into  the  water,  and  determined  that,  even  with  such  provocation 
as  that,  she  must  not  be  angry  with  him. 

But  there  was  no  danger  of  Charley's  forgetting.  "  Come," 
said  he,  "  we  must  not  lose  any  more  time,  if  we  mean  to  dance 
the  first  set.  Alaric  will  be  our  vis  a  vis — he  is  going  to  dance 
with  Miss  Neverbend,"  and  so  they  stood  up.  Katie  tightened 
her  gloves,  gave  her  dress  a  little  shake,  looked  at  her  shoes, 
and  then  the  work  of  the  evening  began. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  liked  to  have  sat  down  for  the  first  dance," 
she  said  confidentially  to  Charley,  "  because  it's  my  first  ball." 

"  Sit  down  !  I  don't  suppose  you'll  be  let  to  sit  down  the 
whole  evening.  You'll  be  crying  out  for  mercy  about  three  or 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  It's  you  to  go  on  now,"  said  Katie,  whose  eyes  were  intent 
on  the  figure,  and  who  would  not  have  gone  wrong  herself,  or 
allowed  her  partner  to  do  so,  on  any  consideration.  And  so 
the  dance  went  on  right  merrily. 

"  I've  got  to  dance  the  first  polka  with  Miss  Golightly,"  said 
Charley. 

"  And  the  next  with  me,"  said  Katie. 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  shan't  forget  that." 

"  You  lucky  man  to  get  Miss  Golightly  for  a  partner.  I  am 
told  she  is  the  most  beautiful  dancer  in  the  world." 


280  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

"  0  no — Mademoiselle is  much  better,"  said  Charley, 

naming  the  principal  stage  performer  of  the  day.  "  If  one  is  to 
go  the  whole  hog,  one  had  better  do  it  thoroughly." 

Katie  did  not  quite  understand  then  what  he  meant,  and 
merely  replied  that  she  would  look  at  the  performance.  In 
this,  however,  she  was  destined  to  be  disappointed,  for  Charley 
had  hardly  left  her  before  Miss  Golightly  brought  np  to  her  the 
identical  Mr.  Delabarbe  de  I'Empereur  who  had  so  terribly  put 
her  out  in  the  gardens.  This  was  done  so  suddenly,  that 
Katie's  presence  of  mind  was  qnite  insufficient  to  provide  her 
with  any  means  of  escape.  The  Frenchman  bowed  very  low 
and  said  nothing.  Katie  made  a  little  courtesy,  and  was 
equally  silent.  Then  she  felt  her  own  arm  gathered  up  and 
put  within  his,  and  she  stood  up  to  take  her  share  in  the  awful 
performance.  She  felt  herself  to  be  in  such  a  nervous  fright 
that  she  would  willingly  have  been  home  again  at  Hampton  if 
she  could ;  but  as  this  was  utterly  im.possible,  she  had  only 
to  bethink  herself  of  her  steps,  and  get  through  the  work  as 
best  she  might. 

Away  went  Charley  and  Clementina  leading  the  throng; 
away  went  M.  Jaquetanape  and  Linda;  away  went  another 
Frenchman  clasping  in  his  arms  the  happy  IJgolina.  Away 
went  Lactimel  with  a  young  Weights  and  Measures — and  then 
came  Katie's  turn.  She  pressed  her  lips  together,  shut  her 
eyes,  and  felt  the  tall  Frenchman's  arms  behind  her  back,  and 
made  a  start.  'Twas  like  plunging  into  cold  water  on  the  first 
bathing  day  of  the  season — 'ce  n^est  que  le premiei^ pas  que  coute.^ 
When  once  off  Katie  did  not  find  it  so  bad.  The  Frenchman 
danced  well,  and  Katie  herself  was  a  wicked  little  adept.  At 
home,  at  Surbiton,  dancing  with  another  girl,  she  had  with  great 
triumph  tired  out  the  fingers  both  of  her  mother  and  sister,  and 
forced  them  to  own  that  it  was  impossible  to  put  her  down. 
M.  de  I'Empereur,  therefore,  had  his  work  before  him,  and  he 
did  it  like  a  man — as  long  as  he  could. 

Katie,  who  had  not  yet  assumed  the  airs  or  will  of  a  grown- 
up young  lady,  thought  that  she  was  bound  to  go  on  as  long  as 
her  grand  partner  chose  to  go  with  her.  He,  on  the  other  hand, 
accustomed  in  his  gallantry  to  obey  all  ladies'  wishes,  considered 
himself  bound  to  leave  it  to  her  to  stop  when  she  pleased.  And 
so  they  went  on  with  apparently  interminable  gyrations. 
Charley  and  the  heiress  had  twice  been  in  motion,  and  had 
twice  stopped,  and  still  they  were  going  on  ;  Ugolina  had  re- 
freshed herself  with  many  delicious  observations,  and  Lactimel 


KATIE'S   FIRST   BALL.  281 

Lad  thrice  paused  to  advocate  dancing  for  the  million  ;  and  still 
they  went  on ;  the  circle  was  gradually  left  to  themselves,  and 
still  they  went  on ; — people  stood  round,  some  admiring  and 
others  pitying;  and  still  they  went  on.  Katie,  thinking  of  her 
steps  and  her  business,  did  not  perceive  that  she  and  her  partner 
were  alone  ;  and  ever  and  anon,  others  of  course  joined  in — and 
so  they  went  on — and  on — and  on. 

M.  Delabarbe  de  I'Empereur  was  a  strong  and  active  man, 
but  he  began  to  perceive  that  the  lady  was  too  much  for  him. 
He  was  already  melting  away  with  his  exertions,  while  his  part- 
ner was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber.  She,  with  her  active  young 
legs,  her  lightly-filled  veins,  and  small,  agile  frame,  could  have 
gone  on  almost  for  ever ;  but  M.  de  I'Empereur  was  more  encum- 
bered. Gallantry  was  at  last  beat  by  nature,  his  overtasked 
muscles  would  do  no  more  for  him,  and  he  was  fain  to  stop, 
dropping  his  partner  into  a  chair,  and  throwing  himself  in  a 
state  of  utter  exhaustion  against  the  wall. 

Katie  was  hardly  out  of  breath  as  she  received  the  congratu- 
lations of  her  friends  ;  but  at  the  moment  she  could  not  under- 
stand why  they  were  quizzing  her.  In  after  times,  however, 
she  was  often  reproached  with  having  danced  a  Frenchman  to 
death  in  the  evening,  in  revenge  for  his  having  bored  her  in  the 
morning.  It  was  observed  that  M.  Delabarbe  de  I'Empereur 
danced  no  more  that  evening.  Indeed,  he  very  soon  left  the 
house. 

Katie  had  not  been  able  to  see  Miss  Golightly's  performance, 
but  it  had  been  well  worth  seeing.  She  was  certainly  no  ordi- 
nary performer,  and  if  she  did  not  quite  come  up  to  the  remarka- 
ble movements  which  one  sees  on  the  stage  under  the  name  of 
dancing,  the  fault  was  neither  in  her  will  nor  her  ability,  but 
only  in  her  education.  Charley  also  was  peculiarly  well  suited 
to  give  her  "  ample  verge  and  room  enough"  to  show  off  all  her 
perfections.  Her  most  peculiar  merit  consisted,  perhaps,  in  her 
power  of  stopping  herself  suddenly,  while  going  on  at  the  rate 
of  a  hunt  one  way,  and  without  any  pause  or  apparent  difficulty 
going  just  as  fast  the  other  way.  This  was  done  by  a  jerk 
which  must,  one  would  be  inclined  to  think,  have  dislocated  all 
her  bones  and  entirely  upset  her  internal  arrangements.  But 
no  ;  it  was  done  without  injury,  or  any  disagreeable  result  either 
to  her  brain  or  elsewhere.  We  all  know  how  a  steamer  is 
manoeuvred  when  she  has  to  change  her  course,  how  we  stop 
her,  and  ease  her,  and  back  her ;  but  Miss  Golightly  stopped 
and  eased  and  backed  all  at  once,  and  that  without  collision  with 


282  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

any  other  craft.  It  was  truly  very  wonderful,  and  Katie  ought 
to  have  looked  at  her. 

Katie  soon  found  occasion  to  cast  off  her  fear  that  her  even- 
ing's happiness  would  be  destroyed  by  a  dearth  of  partners. 
Her  troubles  began  to  be  of  an  exactly  opposite  description. 
She  had  almost  envied  Miss  Golightly  her  little  book  full  of 
engagements,  and  now  she  found  herself  dreadfully  bewildered 
by  a  book  of  her  own.  Some  one  had  given  her  a  card  and  a 
pencil,  and  every  moment  she  could  get  to  herself  was  taken 
up  in  endeavoring  to  guard  herself  from  perfidy  on  her  own 
part.  All  down  the  card,  at  intervals  which  were  not  very  far 
apart,  there  were  great  C's,  which  stood  for  Charley,  and  her 
firmest  feeling  was  that  no  earthly  consideration  should  be 
allowed  to  interfere  with  those  landmarks.  And  then  there 
were  all  manner  of  hieroglyphics — sometimes,  unfortunately, 
illegible  to  Katie  herself — French  names  and  English  names 
mixed  together  in  a  manner  most  vexatious ;  and  to  make  mat^ 
ters  worse,  she  found  that  she  had  put  down  both  Yictoire 
Jaquetanape  and  Mr.  Johnson  of  the  Weights,  by  a  great  I, 
and  she  could  not  remember  with  whom  she  was  bound  to 
dance  the  lancers,  and  to  which  she  had  promised  the  last  polka 
before  supper.  One  thing,  however,  was  quite  fixed  :  when  sup- 
per should  arrive  she  was  to  go  down  stairs  with  Charley. 

"  What  dreadful  news,  Linda  !"  said  Charley  ;  "  did  you  hear 
it  ?"  Linda  was  standing  up  Avith  Mr.  Neverbend  for  a  sober 
quadrille,  and  Katie  also  was  close  by  v/ith  her  partner. 
"  Dreadful  news  indeed  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  Linda. 

"A  man  can  die  but  once  to  be  sure ;  but  to  be  killed  in  such 
a  manner  as  that,  is  certainly  very  sad." 

"  Killed  !  who  has  been  killed  ?"  said  Neverbend. 

"Well,  perhaps  I  shouldn't  say  killed.  He  only  died  in  the 
cab  as  he  went  home." 

"  Died  in  a  cab  !  how  dreadful !"  said  Neverbend.  "  Who  ? 
who  was  it,  Mr.  Tudor  ?' 

"  Didn't  you  hear  ?  How  very  odd !  Why  M.  de  I'Empe- 
reur,  to  be  sure.     I  wonder  what  the  coroner  will  bring  it  in." 

"How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense,  Charley  ?"  said  Linda. 

"  Very  well,  Master  Charley,"  said  Katie,  "All  that  comes 
of  being  a  writer  of  romances.  I  suppose  that's  to  be  the  next 
contribution  to  the  '  Daily  Delight.'  " 

Neverbend  went  ofi"  on  his  quadrille  not  at  all  pleased  with 
the  joke.     Indeed,  he  was  never  pleased  with  a  joke,  and  iu 


KATIE  S    FIRST   BALL.  283 

this  instance  lie  ventured  to  suo;gest  to  his  partner  that  the  idea 
of  a  gentleman  expiring  in  a  cab  was  much  too  horrid  to  be 
laughed  at. 

"Oh,  we  never  mind  Charley  Tudor,"  said  Linda;  "he  always 
goes  on  in  that  way.     We  all  like  him  so  much." 

Mr.  Neverbend,  who,  though  not  very  young,  still  had  a 
susceptible  heart  within  his  bosom,  had  been  much  taken  by 
Linda's  charms.  He  already  began  to  entertain  an  idea  that 
as  a  Mrs.  Neverbend  would  be  a  desirable  adjunct  to  his  esta- 
blishment at  some  future  period,  he  could  not  do  better  than 
offer  himself  and  his  worldly  goods  to  the  acceptance  of  Miss 
Woodward:  he  therefore  said  nothing  further  in  disparagement 
of  the  family  friend ;  but  he  resolved  that  no  such  alliance 
should  ever  induce  him  to  make  Mr.  Charles  Tudor  welcome  at 
his  house.  But  what  could  he  have  expected?  The  Internal 
Navigation  had  ever  been  a  low  place,  and  he  was  surprised 
that  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Val  should  have  admitted  one  of  the  nav- 
vies inside  her  drawing-room. 

And  so  the  ball  went  on.  Mr.  Johnson  came  duly  for  the 
lancers,  and  M.  Jaquetanape  for  the  polka.  Johnson  was  great 
at  the  lancers,  knowing  every  turn  and  vagary  in  that  most 
intricate  and  exclusive  of  dances ;  and  it  need  hardly  be  said 
that  the  polka  with  M.  Jaquetanape  was  successful.  The  last 
honor,  however,  was  not  without  evil  results,  for  it  excited  the 
envy  of  Ugolina,  who,  proud  of  her  own  performance,  had 
longed,  but  hitherto  in  vain,  to  be  whirled  round  the  room  by 
that  wondrously  expert  foreigner. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Ugolina,  with  an  air  that  plainly  said 
that  Katie  was  to  be  treated  as  a  child,  "  I  hope  you  have  had 
dancing  enough." 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  have  not,"  said  Katie,  fully  appreciating  the 
purport  and  cause  of  her  companion's  remark ;  "  not  near 
enough." 

"Ah — but,  my  dear — you  should  remember,"  said  Ugolina; 
"  your  mamma  will  be  displeased  if  you  fatigue  yourself." 

"  My  mamma  is  never  displeased  because  we  amuse  ourselves, 
and  I  am  not  a  bit  fatigued ;"  and  so  saying,  Katie  walked  off, 
and  took  refuge  with  her  sister  Gertrude.  What  business  had 
any  Ugolina  Neverbend  to  interfere  between  her  and  her 
mamma  ? 

Then  came  the  supper.  There  was  a  great  rush  to  get  down 
stairs,  but  Charley  was  so  clever  that  even  this  did  not  put  him 
out.     Of  course  there  was  no  sitting  down ;  which  means  that 


284  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

the  basliful,  retiring,  and  obedient  guests  were  to  stand  on  their 
legs ;  while  those  who  were  forward,  and  impudent,  and  disobe- 
dient, found  seats  for  themselves  wherever  they  could.  Charley- 
was  certainly  among  the  latter  class,  and  he  did  not  rest  there- 
fore till  he  had  got  Katie  into  an  old  arm-chair  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  in  such  a  position  as  to  enable  himself  to  eat  his 
own  supper  leaning  against  the  chimney-piece. 

"  I  say,  Johnson,"  said  he,  "  do  bring  me  some  ham  and 
chicken — it's  for  a  lady — I'm  wedged  up  here  and  can't  get  out 
— and,  Johnson,  some  sherry." 

The  good-natured  young  Weights  obeyed,  and  brought  the 
desired  provisions. 

"And  Johnson — upon  my  word  I'm  sorry  to  be  so  troublesome 
— but  one  more  plateful  if  you  please — for  another  lady — a 
good  deal,  if  you  please,  for  this  lady,  for  she's  very  hungry ; 
and  some  more  sherry." 

Johnson  again  obeyed — the -Weights  are  always  obedient — - 
and  Charley  of  course  appropriated  the  second  portion  to  his 
own  purposes. 

"  Oh,  Charley,  that  was  a  fib — now  wasn't  it  ?  You  shouldn't 
have  said  it  was  for  a  lady." 

"  But  then  I  shouldn't  have  got  it." 

"  Oh,  but  that's  no  reason ;  according  to  that  everybody 
might  tell  a  fib  whenever  they  wanted  anything." 

"  Well,  everybody  does — everybody  except  you,  Katie." 

"  O  no,"  said  Katie — "  no,  they  don't — mamma,  and  Linda, 
and  Gertrude  never  do ;  nor  Harry  Norman,  he  never  does,  nor 
Alaric." 

"  No,  Harry  Norman  never  does,"  said  Charley,  with  some- 
thing like  vexation  in  his  tone.  He  made  no  exception  to 
Katie's  list  of  truth  tellers,  but  he  was  thinking  within  himself 
whether  Alaric  had  a  juster  right  to  be  in  the  catalogue  than 
himself.  "  Harry  Norman  never  does,  certainly.  You  must 
not  compare  me  with  them,  Katie.  They  are  patterns  of  excel- 
lence. I  am  all  the  other  way,  as  everybody  knows."  He  was 
half  laughing  as  he  spoke,  but  Katie's  sharp  ear  knew  that  he 
was  more  than  half  in  earnest,  and  she  felt  she  had  pained  him 
by  what  she  had  said. 

"  Oh,  Charley,  I  didn't  mean  that ;  indeed  I  did  not.  I  know 
that  in  all  serious  things  you  are  as  truthful  as  they  are — and 
quite  as  good — that  is,  in  many  ways."  Poor  Katie!  she 
wanted  to  console  him,  she  wanted  to  be  kind,  and  yet  she 
could  not  be  dishonest. 


KATIE'S   FIRST   BALL.  285 

"  Quite  as  good  !  no,  you  know  I  am  not." 

"  You  are  as  good-hearted,  if  not  better ;  and  you  will  be  as 
steady,  won't  you,  Charley?  I  am  sure  you  will;  and  I  know 
you  are  more  clever,  really  more  clever  than  either  of  them." 

"  Oh  !  Katie." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  are.  I  have  always  said  so ;  don't  be 
angry  with  me  for  wh^t  I  said." 

"  Angry  with  you  !     I  couldn't  be  angry  with  you." 

"  I  wouldn't,  for  the  world,  say  anything  to  vex  you.  I  like 
you  better  than  either  of  them,  though  Alaric  is  my  brother-in- 
law.  Of  course  I  do ;  how  could  I  help  it,  when  you  saved  my 
life  ?" 

"  Saved  your  life !  Pooh  !  I  didn't  save  your  life.  Any  boy 
could  have  done  the  same,  or  any  waterman  about  the  place. 
When  you  fell  in,  the  person  who  was  nearest  you  pulled  you 
out,  that  was  all." 

There  was  something  almost  approaching  to  ferocity  in  his 
voice  as  he  said  this ;  and  yet  when  Katie  timidly  looked  up 
she  saw  that  he  had  turned  his  back  to  the  room,  and  that  his 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  He  had  felt  that  he  was  loved  by  this 
cbild,  but  that  he  was  loved  from  a  feeling  of  uncalled-for  gra- 
titude. He  could  not  stop  to  analyse  this,  to  separate  the  sweet 
from  the  bitter ;  but  he  knew  that  the  latter  prevailed.  It  is  so 
little  flattering  to  be  loved  when  such  love  is  the  offspring  of 
gratitude.  And  then  when  that  gratitude  is  unnecessary,  when 
it  has  been  given  in  mistake  for  supposed  favors,  the  acceptance 
of  such  love  is  little  better  than  a  cheat ! 

"  That  was  not  all,"  said  Katie,  very  decidedly.  "  It  never 
shall  be  all  in  my  mind.  If  you  had  not  been  with  us,  I  should 
now  have  been  drowned,  and  cold,  and  dead ;  and  mamma  ! 
where  w^ould  she  have  been  ?  Oh  !  Charley,  I  shall  think 
myself  so  wicked  if  I  have  said  anything  to  vex  you." 

Charley  did  not  analyse  his  feelings,  nor  did  Katie  analyse 
hers.  It  would  have  been  impossible  for  her  to  do  so.  But 
could  she  have  done  it,  and  had  she  done  it,  she  w^ould  have 
found  that  her  gratitude  w^as  but  the  excuse  which  she  made  to 
herself  for  a  passionate  love  which  she  could  not  have  excused, 
even  to  herself,  in  any  other  way. 

He  said  everything  he  could  to  reassure  her  and  make  her 
happy,  and  she  soon  smiled  and  laughed  again. 

"  Now,  that's  what  my  editor  would  call  a  Nemesis,"  said 
Charley. 

"  Oh,  that's  a  Nemesis,  is  it  ?" 


286  THE  THREE   CLEEKS, 

"  Jolinson  was  cheated  into  doing  my  work,  and  getting  me 
my  supper ;  and  then  you  scolded  me,  and  took  away  my  appe- 
tite, so  that  I  couldn't  eat  it;  that's  a  Nemesis.  Johnson  is 
avenged,  only,  unluckily,  he  doesn't  know  it,  and  wickedness  is 
punished." 

"  Well,  mind  you  put  it  into  the  *  Daily  Delight.'  But  all 
the  girls  are  going  up  stairs ;  pray  let  me  get  out,"  and  so  Katie 
went  up  stairs  again. 

It  was  then  past  one.  About  two  hours  afterwards,  Gertrude, 
looking  for  her  sister  that  she  might  take  her  home,  found  her 
seated  on  a  bench,  with  her  feet  tucked  under  her  dress.  She 
was  very  much  fatigued,  and  she  looked  to  be  so  ;  but  there  was 
still  a  bright,  laughing  sparkle  in  her  eye,  which  showed  that 
her  spirits  were  not  even  yet  weary. 

"  Well,  Katie,  have  you  had  enough  dancing  ?" 

"  Nearly,"  said  Katie,  yawning. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  couldn't  stand." 

"  Yes,  I  am  too  tired  to  stand  ;  but  still  I  think  I  could  dance 
a  little  more,  only " 

"  Only  what  ?" 

"  Whisper,"  said  Katie  ;  and  Gertrude  put  down  her  ear  near 
to  her  sister's  lips.  "  Both  my  shoes  are  quite  worn  out,  and 
my  toes  are  all  out  on  the  floor." 

It  was  clearly  time  for  them  to  go  home,  so  away  they  all 
went. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

EXCELSIOR. 


The  last  words  that  Katie  spoke,  as  she  walked  down  Mrs. 
Val's  hall,  leaning  on  Charley's  arm,  as  he  led  her  to  the  car 
riage,  were  these — 

"  You  will  be  steady,  Charley,  won't  you  ?  you  will  try  to  be 
steady,  won't  you,  dear  Charley  ?"  and  as  she  spoke  she  almost 
imperceptibly  squeezed  the  arm  on  which  she  was  leaning. 
Charley  pressed  her  little  hand  as  he  parted  from  her,  but  he 
said  nothing.  What  could  he  say,  in  that  moment  of  time,  in 
answer  to  such  a  request?  Had  he  made  the  reply  which  come 
most  readily  to  his  lips,  it  would  have  been  this  :  "  It  is  too  late, 
Katie — too  late  for  me  to  profit  by  a  caution,  even  from  you, — 
no  steadiness  now  will  save  me."  Katie,  however,  wanted  no 
other  answer  than  the  warm  pressure  which  she  felt  on  her  hand. 


EXCELSIOR.  287 

And  tlien,  leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  and  shutting  her 
eyes,  she  tried  to  think  quietly  over  the  events  of  the  night. 
But  it  was,  alas !  a  dream,  and  yet  so  like  reality  that  she  could 
not  divest  herself  of  the  feeling  that  the  ball  was  still  going  on. 
She  still  seemed  to  see  the  lights  and  hear  the  music,  to  feel 
herself  whirled  round  the  room,  and  to  see  others  whirling, 
whirling,  whirling,  on  every  side  of  her.  She  thought  over  all 
the  names  on  her  card,  and  the  little  contests  that  had  taken 
place  for  her  hand,  and  all  Charley's  jokes,  and  M.  de  I'Empe- 
reurs  great  disaster ;  and  then,  as  she  remembered  how  long 
she  had  gone  on  twisting  round  with  the  poor  unfortunate,  ill- 
used  Frenchman,  she  involuntarily  burst  out  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"  Good  gracious,  Katie,  what  is  the  matter  ?  I  thought  you 
were  asleep,"  said  Gertrude. 

"So  did  I,"  said  Linda.  "What  on  earth  can  you  be 
laughing  at  now  ?" 

"  I  was  laughing  at  myself,"  said  Katie,  still  going  on  with 
her  half-suppressed  chuckle,  "  and  thinking  what  a  fool  I  was 
to  go  on  dancing  so  long  with  that  M.  de  I'Empereur.  Oh  dear, 
Gertrude,  I  am  so  tired  :  shall  we  be  home  soon  ?"  and  then  she 
burst  out  crying. 

The  excitement  and  fatigue  of  the  day  had  been  too  much  for 
her,  and  she  w^as  now  completely  overcome.  Ugolina  Never- 
bend's  advice,  though  not  quite  given  in  the  kindest  way,  had  in 
itself  been  good.  Mrs.  Woodward  would,  in  truth,  have  been 
unhappy  could  she  have  seen  her  child  at  this  moment.  Katie 
made  an  attempt  to  laugh  off  her  tears,  but  she  failed,  and  her 
sobs  then  became  hysterical,  and  she  lay  with  her  head  on  her 
married  sister's  shoulder,  almost  choking  herself  in  her 
attempts  to  repress  them. 

"  Dear  Katie,  don't  sob  so,"  said  Linda, — "  don't  cry,  pray 
don't  cry,  dear  Katie." 

"She  had  better  let  it  have  its  way,"  said  Gertrude;  "she 
will  be  better  directly,  won't  you,  Katie  ?" 

In  a  little  time  she  was  better,  and  then  she  burst  out 
laughing  again.  "  I  wonder  why  the  man  went  on  when  he 
was  so  tired.     What  a  stupid  man  he  must  be  1" 

Gertrude  and  Linda  both  laughed  in  order  to  comfort  her  and 
bring  her  round. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  think  it  was  because  he  didn't  know  how 
to  say  '  stop  *  in  English ;"  and  then  she  burst  out  laughing 
again,  and  that  led  to  another  fit  of  hysterical  tears. 

When  they  reached  home  Gertrude  and  Linda  soon  got  her 


288  THE   THREE   CLEEKS. 

into  bed.  Linda  was  to  sleep  with  her,  and  she  also  was  not  very- 
long  in  laying  her  head  on  her  pillow.  But  before  she  did  so 
Katie  was  fast  asleep,  and  twice  in  her  sleep  she  cried  out,  "  Oh, 
Charley  !  Oh,  Charley  !"  Then  Linda  guessed  how  it  was  with 
her  sister,  and  in  the  depths  of  her  loving  heart  she  sorrowed 
for  the  coming  grief  which  she  foresaw. 

When  the  morning  came  Katie  was  feverish,  and  had  a  head- 
ache. It  was  thought  better  that  she  should  remain  in  town, 
and  Alaric  took  Linda  down  to  Hampton.  The  next  day  Mrs. 
Woodward  came  up,  and  as  the  invalid  was  better  she  took  her 
home.  But  still  she  was  an  invalid.  The  doctor  declared  that 
she  had  never  quite  recovered  from  her  fall  into  the  river,  and 
prescribed  quiet  and  cod-liver  oil.  All  the  truth  about  the 
Chiswick  fete  and  the  five  hours'  dancing,  and  the  worn-out 
shoes,  was  not  told  to  him,  or  he  might,  perhaps,  have  acquitted 
the  water  gods  of  the  injury.  Nor  was  it  al], perhaps,  told  to 
Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  I'm  afraid  she  tired  herself  at  the  ball,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  I  think  she  did  a  little,"  said  Linda. 

"Did  she  dance  much?"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  looking 
anxiously. 

"  She  did  dance  a  good  deal,"  said  Linda. 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  too  wise  to  ask  any  further  questions. 

As  it  was  a  fine  night  Alaric  had  declared  his  intention  of 
walking  home  from  Mrs.  Val's  party,  and  he  and  Charley  started 
together.  They  soon  parted  on  their  roads,  but  not  before 
Alaric  had  had  time  to  notice  Charley's  perverse  stupidity  as 
to  Miss  Golightly. 

^'  So  you  wouldn't  take  my  advice  about  Clementina  ?"  said 
he. 

"  It  was  quite  impossible,  Alaric,"  said  Charley,  in  an  apolo- 
getic voice.  "  I  couldn't  do  it,  and,  what  is  more,  I  am  sure  I 
never  shall." 

"  No,  not  now ;  you  certainly  can't  do  it  now.  If  I  am  not 
very  much  mistaken,  the  chance  is  gone.  I  think  you'll  find 
she  engaged  herself  to  that  Frenchman  to-night." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Charley. 

"  Well, — I  did  the  best  I  could  for  you.  Good  night,  old 
fellow." 

"  I'm  sure  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  Good  night,"  said 
Charley. 

Alaric's  suggestion  with  reference  to  the  heiress  was  quite 
or  rect :  M.  Jaquetanape  had  that  night  proposed,  and  been 


EXCELSIOK.  289 

duly  accepted.  He  was  to  present  himself  to  his  loved  one's 
honorable  mother  on  the  following  morning  as  her  future  son- 
in-law,  comforted  and  supported  in  his  task  of  doing  so  by  an 
assurance  from  the  lady  that  if  her  mother  would  not  give  her 
consent  the  marriage  should  go  on  all  the  same  without  it. 
How  delightful  to  have  such  a  dancer  for  her  lover !  thought 
Clementina.     That  was  her  "  excelsior." 

Charley  walked  home  with  a  sad  heart.  He  had  that  day 
given  a  pledge  that  he  would  on  the  morrow  go  to  the  "  Cat 
and  Whistle,"  and  visit  his  lady-love.  Since  the  night  when 
he  sat  there  with  Norah  Geraghty  on  his  knee,  now  nearly  a 
fortnight  since,  he  had  spent  but  little  of  his  time  there.  He 
had,  indeed,  gone  there  once  or  twice  with  his  friend  Scatterall, 
but  had  contrived  to  avoid  any  confidential  intercourse  with 
either  the  landlady  or  the  barmaid,  alleging,  as  an  excuse  for 
his  extraordinary  absence,  that  his  time  was  wholly  occupied  by 
the  demands  made  on  it  by  the  editor  of  the  "  Daily  Delight." 
Mrs.  Davis,  however,  was  much  too  sharp,  and  so  also  we  may 
say  was  Miss  Geraghty  to  be  deceived.  They  well  knew  that 
such  a  young  man  as  Charley  would  go  wherever  his  inclination 
led  him.  Till  lately  it  had  been  all  but  impossible  to  get  him 
out  of  the  little  back  parlor  at  the  "Cat  and  Whistle;"  now  it 
was  nearly  as  difficult  to  get  him  into  it.  They  both  under- 
stood what  this  meant. 

"  You'd  better  take  up  with  Peppermint  and  have  done  with 
it,"  said  the  widow.  "  What's  the  good  of  your  shilly-shallying 
till  you're  as  thin  as  a  whipping-post  ?  If  you  don't  mind  what 
you're  after  he'll  be  oft'  too." 

"And  the  d — r- go  along  with  him,"  said  Miss  Geraghty, 
who  had  still  about  her  a  twang  of  the  County  Clare,  from 
Avhence  she  came. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Davis ;  "  I  shall  save  my 
hundred  pounds ;  but  if  you'll  be  led  by  me  you'll  not  throw 
Peppermint  over  till  you're  sure  of  the  other ;  and,  take  my 
word  for  it,  you're " 

"  I  hate  Peppermint." 

"  Nonsense ;  he's  an  honest  good  sort  of  man,  and  a  deal 
more  likely  to  keep  you  out  of  want  than  the  other." 

Hereupon  Norah  began  to  cry,  and  to  wip^  her  beautiful 
eyes  with  the  glass-cloth.  Hers,  indeed,  was  a  cruel  position. 
Her  face  was  her  fortune,  and  her  fortune  she  knew  was 
deteriorating  from  day  to  day.  She  could  not  aff'ord  to  lose 
the  lover  that  she  loved,  and  also  the  lover  that  she  did  not 

13 


290  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

love.  Matrimony  with  lier  was  extremely  desirable,  and  she 
was  driven  to  confess  that  it  might  very  probably  be  either  now 
or  never.  Much  as  she  hated  Peppermint,  she  was  quite  aware 
that  she  would  take  him  if  she  could  not  do  better.  But  then, 
was  it  absolutely  certain  that  she  must  lose  the  lover  that  so 
completely  suited  her  taste  ?  Mrs.  Davis  said  it  was.  Norah 
herself,  confiding,  as  it  is  so  natural  that  ladies  should  do,  a 
little  too  much  in  her  own  beauty,  thought  that  she  couldn't 
but  have  a  chance  left.  She  also  had  her  high  aspirations ;  she 
desired  to  rise  in  the  world,  to  leave  goes  of  gin  and  screws  of 
tobacco  behind  her,  and  to  reach  some  position  more  worthy 
of  the  tastes  of  a  woman.  "  Excelsior,"  translated  doubtless  into 
excellent  Irish,  was  her  motto  also.  It  would  be  so  great  a 
thing  to  be  the  wife  of  Charles  Tudor,  Esq.,  of  the  Civil  Service, 
and  more  especially  as  she  dearly  and  truly  loved  the  same 
Charles  Tudor  in  her  heart  of  "h:5arts.«__... 

She  knew,  however,  that  it  was  not  for  her  to  indulge  in  the 
luxury  of  a  heart,  if  circumstances  absolutely  forbade  it.  To 
eat  and  drink  and  clothe  herself,  and,  if  possible,  to  provide 
eating  and  drinking  and  clothes  for  her  future  years,  this  was 
the  business  of  life,  this  was  the  only  real  necessity.  She  had 
nothing  to  say  in  opposition  to  Mrs.  Davis,  and  therefore  she 
went  on  crying,  and  again  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  glass-cloth. 

Mrs.  Davis,  however,  was  no  stern  monitor,  unindulgent  to 
the  weakness  of  human  nature.  When  she  saw  how  Norah 
took  to  heart  her  sad  fate,  she  resolved  to  make  one  more 
effort  in  her  favor.  She  consequently  dressed  herself  very 
nicely,  put  on  her  best  bonnet,  and  took  the  unprecedented  step 
of  going  off  to  the  Internal  Navigation,  and  calling  on  Charley 
in  the  middle  of  his  office. 

Charley  was  poking  over  the  Kennett  and  Avon  lock  entries, 
with  his  usual  official  energy,  when  the  office  messenger 
came  up  and  informed  him  that  a  lady  was  waiting  to  see  him. 

"  A  lady  !"  said  Charley  :  "  what  lady  ?"  and  he  immediately 
began  thinking  of  the  Woodwards,  whom  he  was  to  meet  that 
afternoon  at  Chiswick. 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  say,  sir ;  all  that  she  said  was  that  she  was 
a  lady,"  answered  the  messenger,  falsely,  for  he  well  knew  that 
the  woman  was  Mrs.  Davis,  of  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle." 

Now  the  clerks  at  the  Internal  Navigation  were  badly  off  for 
a  waiting-room  ;  and  in  no  respect  can  the  different  ranks  of. 
different  public  offices  be  more  plainly  seen  than  in  the  presence 
or  absence  of  such  little  items  of  accommodation  as  this.     At 


EXCELSIOK.  291 

the  Weights  and  Measures  there  was  an  elegant  little  chamber, 
carpeted,  furnished  with  leathern-bottomed  chairs,  and  a  clock, 
supplied  with  cream-laid  note-paper,  new  pens,  and  the  "  Times" 
newspaper,  quite  a  little  Elysium,  in  which  to  pass  half  an  hour, 
while  the  Secretary,  whom  one  had  called  to  see,  was  com- 
pleting his  last  calculation  on  the  matter  of  the  decimal  coinage. 
But  there  were  no  such  comforts  at  the  Internal  Navigation. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  little  room  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  in 
which  visitors  were  requested  to  sit  down  ;  but  even  here  two 
men  were  always  at  work — at  work,  or  else  at  play. 

Into  this  room  Mrs.  Davis  was  shown,  and  there  Charley 
found  her.  Long  and  intimately  as  the  young  navvy  had  been 
acquainted  with  the  landlady  of  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle,"  he  had 
never  before  seen  her  arrayed  for  the  outer  world.  It  may  be 
doubted  whether  Sir  John  Falstaff  would,  at  the  first  glance, 
have  known  even  Dame  Quickly  in  her  bonnet,  that  is,  if  Dame 
Quicklyin  those  days  had  had  abonnet.  At  any  rate,  Charley  was 
at  fault  for  a  moment,  and  was  shaking  hands  with  the  land- 
lady before  he  quite  recognised  who  she  was. 

The  men  in  the  room,  however,  had  recognised  her,  and 
Charley  well  knew  that  they  had  done  so. 

"  Mr.  Tudor,"  she  began,  not  a  bit  abashed,  "  I  want  to  know 
what  it  is  you  are  a-going  to  do  ?" 

Though  she  was  not  abashed,  Charley  was,  and  very  much 
so.  However,  he  contrived  to  get  her  out  of  the  room,  so  that 
he  might  speak  to  her  somewhat  more  privately  in  the  passage. 
The  gentlemen  at  the  Internal  Navigation  were  well  accustomed 
to  this  mode  of  colloquy,  as  their  tradesmen  not  unfrequently 
called,  with  the  view  of  having  a  little  conversation,  which 
could  not  conveniently  be  held  in  the  public  room. 

"  And,  Mr.  Tudor,  what  are  you  a-going  to  do  about  that  poor 
girl  there?"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  in  the 
passage,  and  saw  that  Charley  was  comfortably  settled  with  his 
back  against  the  wall. 

"  She  may  go  to  Hong-Kong  for  me."  That  is  what  Charley 
should  have  said.  But  he  did  not  say  it.  He  had  neither  the 
sternness  of  heart  nor  the  moral  courage  to  enable  him  to  do 
so.  He  was  very  anxious,  it  is  true,  to  get  altogether  quit  of 
Norah  Geraghty  ;  but  his  present  immediate  care  was  confijacd 
to  a  desire  of  getting  Mrs.  Davis  out  of  the  ofiice. 

"  Do  !"  said  Charley.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  I'll  come  and 
settle  something  some  of  these  days ;  let  me  see  when, — say 
next  Tuesday." 


292  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

"  Settle  something,"  said  Mrs.  Davis.  "  If  yon  are  an  honest 
man,  as  I  take  you,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  settle ;  when  do 
you  mean  to  marry  her  ?" 

"  Hush  !"  said  Charley  ;  for,  as  she  was  speaking,  Mr.  Snape 
came  down  the  passage  leading  from  Mr.  Oldeschole's  room. 
"  Hush  !"  Mr.  Snape  as  he  passed,  walked  very  slowly,  and 
looked  curiously  round  into  the  widow's  face.  "  I'll  be  even 
with  you,  old  fellow,  for  that,"  said  Charley  to  himself;  and  it 
may  be  taken  for  granted  that  he  kept  his  word  before  long. 

"  Oh !  it  is  no  good  hushing  any  more,"  said  Mrs.  Davis, 
hardly  waiting  till  Mr.  Snape's  erect  ears  were  out  of  hearing. 
"  Hushing  won't  do  no  good  ;  there's  that  girl  a-dying,  and  her 
grave  '11  be  a- top  of  your  head,  Mr.  Tudor  ;  mind  I  tell  you  that 
feirly  ;  so  now  I  want  to  know  what  it  ig  3^)Ji're  afgoin^  to  do." 
And  then  Mrs.  Davis  lifted  up  the  lid  of  a  market  basket  wliich 
hung  on  her  left  arm,  took  out  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
began  to  wipe  her  eyes. 

Unfortunate  Charley !  An  idea  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  bolt  and  leave  her.  But  then  the  chances  were  that  she 
would  make  her  way  into  his  very  room,  and  tell  her  story  there, 
out  before  them  all.  He  well  knew  that  this  woman  was 
capable  of  many  things  if  her  temper  were  fairly  roused.  And 
yet  what  could  he  say  to  induce  her  to  go  out  from  that  build- 
ing, and  leave  him  alone  to  his  lesser  misfortunes  ? 

"  She's  a-dying,  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Tudor,"  continued  the  land- 
lady, "  and  if  she  do  die,  be  sure  of  this,  I  won't  be  slow  to  tell 
the  truth  about  it.  I'm  the  only  friend  she's  got,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  see  her  put  upon.  So  just  tell  me  this  in  two  words — 
what  is  it  you're  a-going  to  do?"  And  then  Mrs.  Davis 
replaced  her  kerchief  in  the  basket,  stood  boldly  erect  in  the 
middle  of  the  passage,  waiting  for  Charley's  answer. 

Just  at  this  moment  Mr.  Snape  again  appeared  in  the  pas- 
sage, going  towards  Mr.  Oldeschole's  room.  The  pernicious  old 
man !  He  hated  Charley  Tudor ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  there 
was  no  love  lost  betweenr  -them.  Charley,  afflicted  and  out  of 
spirits  as  he  was  at  the  moment,  could  not  resist  the  opportunity 
of  being  impertinent  to  his  old  foe:  "I'm  afraid  you'll  make 
yourself  very  tired,  Mr.  Snape,  if  you  walk  about  so  much," 
said  he.  Mr.  Snape  merely  looked  at  him,  and  then  hard  at 
Mrs.  Davis,  and  passed  on  to  Mr.  Oldeschole's  room. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Tudor,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  what  it 
is  you're  going  to  do  about  this  poor  girl  ?" 

"  My  goodness,  Mrs.  Davis,  you  know  how  I   am  situated — 


EXCELSIOE.  293 

how  can  you  expect  me  to  give  an  answer  to  such  a  question  in 
such  a  place  as  this  ?  I'll  come  to  the  '  Cat  and  Whistle'  on 
Tuesday." 

"  Gammon  !"  said  the  eloquent  lady.  *' You  know  you  means 
gammon." 

Charley,  perhaps,  did  mean  gammon  ;  but  he  protested  that 
he  had  never  been  more  truthfully  in  earnest  in  his  life.  Mr. 
Oldeschole's  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Davis  perceiving  it,  whipped 
out  her  handkerchief  in  haste,  and  again  began  wiping  her  eyes, 
not  without  audible  sobs.  "Confound  the  woman  !"  said 
Charley  to  himself;  "  what  on  earth  shall  I  do  with  her?" 

Mr.  Oldeschole's  door  opened,  and  out  of  it  came  Mr.  Olde- 
schole,  and  Mr.  Snape  following  him.  What  means  the  clerk 
had  used  to  bring  forth  the  secretary  need  not  now  be  inquired. 
Forth  they  both  came,  and  passed  along  the  passage,  brushing 
close  b}^  Charley  and  Mrs.  Davis ;  Mr.  Oldeschole,  when  he  saw 
that  one  of  the  clerks  was  talking  to  a  woman  who  apparently 
was  crying,  looked  very  intently  on  the  ground,  and  passed  by 
with  a  quick  step ;  Mr.  Snape  looked  as  intently  at  the  woman, 
and  passed  very  slowly.     Each  acted  according  to  his  lights. 

"  I  don't  mean  gammon  at  all,  Mrs.  Davis — indeed  I  don't — 
I'll  be  there  on  Tuesday  night  certainly,  if  not  sooner — I  will 
indeed — I  shall  be  in  a  desperate  scrape  if  they  see  me  here 
talking  to  you  any  longer;  there  is  a  rule  against  women  being 
in  the  office  at  all." 

"  And  there's  a  rule  against  the  clerk's  marrying,  I  suppose," 
said  Mrs.  Davis. 

The  colloquy  ended  in  Charley  promising  to  spend  the  Satur- 
day evening  at  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle,"  with  the  view  of  then 
and  there  settling  what  he  meant  to  do  about  "  that  there  girl ;" 
nothing  short  of  such  an  undertaking  on  his  part  would  induce 
Mrs.  Davis  to  budge.  Had  she  known  her  advantage  she  might 
have  made  even  better  terms.  He  would  almost  rather  have 
given  her  a  written  promise  to  marry  her  barmaid,  than  have 
suffered  her  to  remain  there  till  Mr.  Oldeschole  should  return 
and  see  her  there  again.  So  Mrs.  Davis,  with  her  basket  and 
pocket-handkerchief,  went  her  way  about  her  marketing,  and 
Charley,  as  he  returned  to  his  room,  gave  the  strictest  injunctions 
to  the  messenger  that  not,  on  any  ground  or  excuse  whatever, 
was  an  J  woman  to  be  again  allowed  to  see  him  at  the  office. 

When,  therefore,  on  the  fine  summer  morning,  with  the  early 
daylight  all  bright  around  him,  Charley  walked  home  from  Mrs. 
Yal's  party,  he  naturally  felt  sad  enough.     He  had  one  sixpence 


/ 


294/  THE  THREE  CLEEKS. 

left  in  his  pocket ;  lie  was  engaged  to  spend  the  evening  of  the 
following  day  with  the  delightful  Norah  at  the  "Cat  and 
Whistle,"  then  and  there  to  plight  her  his  troth,  in  whatever 
formal  and  most  irretrievable  manner  Mrs.  Davis  might  choose 
to  devise ;  and  as  he  thought  of  these  things  he  had  ringing  in 
his  ears  the  last  sounds  of  that  angel  voice,  "You  will  be  steady, 
Charley,  won't  you?  I  know 'you  will,  dear  Charley — won't 
you  now?" 

Steady  !  Would  not  the  best  thing  for  him  be  to  step  down 
to  Waterloo  Bridge  and  throw  himself  over  ?  He  still  had 
money  enough  left  to  pay  the  toll — though  not  enough  to  hire 
a  pistol.  And  so  he  went  home  and  got  into  bed. 
=^  On  that  same  day,  the  day  that  was  to  witness  Charley's 
betrothal  to  Miss  Geraghty,  and  that  of  M.  Jaquetanape  with 
Miss  Golightly,  Alaric  Tudor  had  an  appointment  with  Sir  Gre- 
gory Hardlines  at  the  new  office  of  the  Civil  Service  Examina- 
tion Board.  Alaric  had  been  invited  to  wait  upon  the  great 
man,  in  terms  which  made  him  perfectly  understand  that  the 
communication  to  be  made  was  one  which  would  not  be  un- 
pleasing  or  uncomplimentary  to  himself.  Indeed,  he  pretty 
well  guessed  what  was  to  be  said  to  him.  Since  his  promotion 
at  the  Weights  and  Measures  he  had  gone  on  rising  in  estima- 
tion as  a  man  of  value  to  the  Civil  Service  at  large.  Nearly 
two  years  had  now  passed  since  that  date,  and  in  these  pages 
nothing  has  been  said  of  his  official  career  during  the  time.  It 
had,  however,  been  everything  that  he  or  his  friends  could  have 
wished  it  to  be.  He  had  so  put  himself  forward  as  absolutely 
to  have  satisfied  the  actual  chief  clerk  of  his  office,  and  was 
even  felt  by  some  of  the  secretaries  to  be  treading  very  closely 
on  their  heels. 

And  yet  a  great  portion  of  his  time  had  been  spent,  not  at 
the  Weights  and  Measures,  but  in  giving  some  sort  of  special 
assistance  to  Sir  Gregory's  Board.  The  authorities  at  the 
Weights  and  Measures  did  not  miss  him ;  they  would  have 
been  well  content  that  he  should  have  remained  for  ever  with 
Sir  Gregory. 

He  had  also  become  somewhat  known  to  the  official  world, 
even  beyond  the  confines  of  the  Weights  and  Measures,  or  the 
Examination  Board.  He  had  changed  his  club,  and  now 
belonged  to  the  Downing.  He  had  there  been  introduced  by 
his  friend  Undy  to  many  men,  whom  to  know  should  be  the 
very  breath  in  the  nostrils  of  a  rising  official  aspirant.  Mr. 
Whip  Vigil,  of  the  Treasury,  had  more  than  once  taken  him  by 


EXCELSIOK.  295 

the  hand,  and  even  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  usually 
nodded  to  him  whenever  that  o'ertasked  functionary  found  a 
moment  to  look  in  at  the  official  club. 

Things  had  not  been  going  quite  smoothly  at  the  Examina- 
tion Board.  Tidings  had  got  about  that  Mr.  Jobbles  was  inter- 
fering with  Sir  Gregory,  and  that  Sir  Gregory  didn't  like  it. 
To  be  sure,  when  this  had  been  indiscreetly  alluded  to  in  the 
House  by  one  of  those  gentlemen  who  pass  their  leisure  hours  in 
looking  out  for  raws  in  the  hide  of  the  government  carcass, 
some  other  gentleman,  some  gentleman  from  the  Treasury 
bench,  had  been  able  to  give  a  very  satisfactory  reply.  For 
why,  indeed,  should  any  gentleman  sit  on  the  Treasury  bench 
if  he  be  not  able,  when  so  questioned,  to  give  very  satisfactory 
replies  ?  Giving  satisfactory  replies  to  ill-natured  questions  is, 
one  may  say,  the  constitutional  work  of  such  gentlemen,  who  have 
generally  well  learned  how  to  do  so,  and  earned  their  present 
places  by  asking  the  self-same  questions  themselves,  when  seated 
as  younger  men  in  other  parts  of  the  House. 

But  though  the  answer  given  in  this  instance  was  so  emi- 
nently satisfactory  as  to  draw  down  quite  a  chorus  of  triumphant 
acclamations  from  the  official  supporters  of  Government,  never- 
theless things  had  not  gone  on  at  the  Board  quite  as  smoothly 
as  might  have  been  desirable.  Mr.  Jobbles  was  enthusiastically 
intent  on  examining  the  whole  adult  male  population  of  Great 
Britain,  and  had  gone  so  far  as  to  hint  that  female  competitors 
might,  at  some  future  time,  be  made  subject  to  hTTa'll-measur- 
ing  rule  and  compass.  Sir  Gregory,  however,  who,  having  passed 
his  early  days  in  an  office,  may,  perhaps,  be  supposed  to  have 
had  some  slight  prejudice  remaining  in  favor  of  ancient  customs, 
was  not  inclined  to  travel  so  quickly.  Moreover,  he  preferred 
following  his  own  lead,  to  taking  any  other  lead  whatever  that 
Mr.  Jobbles  might  point  out  as  preferable. 

Mr.  Jobbles  wanted  to  crush  all  patronage  at  a  blow ;  any 
system  of  patronage  would  lamentably  limit  the  number  of  can- 
didates among  whom  his  examination  papers  would  be  distri- 
buted. He  longed  to  behold,  crowding  around  him,  an  attend- 
ance as  copious  as  Mr.  Spurgeon's,  and  to  see  every  head  bowed 
over  the  posing  questions  which  he  should  have  dictated.  No 
legion  could  be  too  many  for  him.  He  longed  to  be  at  this 
great  work ;  but  his  energies  were  crushed  by  the  opposition 
of  his  colleagues.  Sir  Gregory  thought— and  Sir  Warwick, 
though  he  hardly  gave  a  firm  support  to  Sir  Gregory,  w^ould 
not  lend  his  countenance  to  Mr.  Jobbles — Sir  Gregory  thought 


296  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

that  enougli  would  be  done  for  the  present,  if  they  merely  pro- 
vided that  every  one  admitted  into  the  Service  should  be  edu- 
cated in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  fit  for  any  profession  or  calling 
under  the  sun ;  and  that,  with  this  slight  proviso,  the  question 
of  patronage  might  for  the  present  remain  untouched,  "  Do 
you,"  he  would  have  said  to  the  great  officers  of  Government, 
"  appoint  whom  you  like.  In  this  respect  remain  quite  un- 
fettered. I,  however,  I  am  the  St.  Peter  to  whom  are  confided 
the  keys  of  the  Elysium.  Do  you  send  whatever  candidates 
you  please  :  it  is  for  me  merely  to  say  whether  or  not  they  shall 
enter."  But  Mr.  Jobbles  would  have  gone  much  further.  He 
would  have  had  all  mankind  for  candidates,  and  have  selected 
from  the  whole  mass  those  most  worthy  of  the  high  reward.  And 
so  there  was  a  split  at  the  Examination  Board,  which  was  not 
to  be  healed  even  by  the  very  satisfactory  reply  given  by  the 
Treasury  gentleman  in  the  House  of  Commons. 

Neither  Sir  Gregory  nor  his  rival  were  men  likely  to  give 
way,  and  it  soon  appeared  manifest  to  the  powers  that  be,  that 
something  must  be  done.  It  therefore  came  to  light  that  Mr. 
Jobbles  had  found  that  his  clerical  position  was  hardly  compati- 
ble with  a  seat  at  a  lay  board,  and  he  retired  to  the  more  con- 
genial duties  of  a  comfortable  prebendal  stall  at  Westminster. 
"  So  that  by  his  close  vicinity,"  as  was  observed  by  a  newspaper 
that  usually  supported  the* Government,  "he  might  be  able  to 
be  of  material  use,  whenever  his  advice  should  be  required  by 
the  Board  of  Commissioners."  Sir  Gregory,  in  the  mean  time, 
was  instructed  to  suggest  the  name  of  another  colleague ;  and, 
therefore,  he  sent  for  Alaric  Tudor. 

Alaric,  of  course,  knew  well  what  had  been  going  on  at  the 
Board,  He  had  been  Sir  Gregory's  confidential  man  all  through  ; 
had  worked  out  cases  for  him,  furnished  him  with  arguments, 
backed  his  views,  and  had  assisted  him  whenever  such  a  course 
had  been  necessary,  in  holding  Mr.  Jobbles'  head  under  the 
pump.  Alaric  knew  well  on  which  side  his  bread  was  buttered, 
and  could  see  with  a  glance  which  star  was  in  the  ascendant ;  he 
perfectly  understood  the  points  and  merits  of  the  winning  horse. 
He  went  in  to  win  upon  Sir  Gregory,  and  he  won.  When  Mr. 
Jobbles  made  his  last  little  speech  at  the  Board,  and  retired  to 
his  house  in  the  Dean's  yard,  Alaric  felt  tolerably  certain  that 
he  himself  would  be  invited  to  fill  the  vacant  place. 

And  he  was  so  invited.  "ThalNis^l200?.  a-year,  at  any  rate," 
said  he  to  himself,  as  with  many  wordFoT  submissive  gratitude 
he  thanked  his  patron  for  the  nomination.     "That  is  12001, 


OUTERMAN  V.   TUDOR.  29*7 

a-year.  So  far,  so  good.  And  now  what  must  be  the  next  step  ? 
Excelsior  !  It  is  very  nice  to  be  a  Commissioner,  and  sit  at  a 
Board  at  Sir  Gregory's  right  hand  :  much  nicer  than  being  a 
junior  clerk  at  the  Weights  and  Measures,  like  Harry  Norman. 
But  there  are  nicer  things  even  than  that ;  there  are  greater  men 
even  than  Sir  Gregory ;  richer  figures  than  even  1200/.  a-year!" 

So  he  went  to  his  old  office,  wrote  his  resignation,  and  walked 
home  meditating  to  what  next  step  above  he  should  now  aspire 
to  rise.     Excelsior  !  he  still  said  to  himself,  Excelsior ! 

At  the  same  moment  Charley  was  leaving  the  Internal  Navi- 
gation, and  as  he  moved  with  unusual  slowness  down  the  steps, 
he  bethought  himself  how  he  might  escape  from  the  fangs  of 
his  Norah ;  how,  if  such  might  still  be  possible,  he  might  fit 
himself  for  the  love  of  Katie  Woodward."  Excelsior!  such 
also  was  the  thought  of  his  mind ;  but  he  did  not  dare  to  bring 
the  word  to  utterance.  It  was  destined  that  his  thoughts  should 
be  interrupted  by  no  very  friendly  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

OUTERMAN  V.  TUDOR. 


Charley  sat  at  his  oflSce  on  the  Saturday  afternoon,  very 
meditative,  and  unlike  himself.  What  was  he  to  do  when  his 
oflSce  hours  were  over  ?  In  the  first  place  he  had  not  a  shilling 
in  the  world  to  get  his  dinner.  His  habit  was  to  breakfast  at 
home  at  his  lodgings,  with  Harry,  and  then  to  dine,  as  best  he 
might,  at  some  tavern,  if  he  had  not  the  good  fortune  to  be 
dining  out.  He  had  a  little  dinner  bill  at  a  house  which  he  fre- 
quented in  the  Strand ;  but  the  bill  he  knew  had  reached  its 
culminating  point.  It  would,  he  was  aware,  be  necessary  that 
it  should  be  decreased,  not  augmented,  at  the  next  commercial 
transaction  which  might  take  place  between  him  and  the  tavern- 
keeper. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  by  many  ip  which  he  had  been 
in  a  similar  plight — but  his  resource  in  such  case  had  been  to 
tell  the  truth  gallantly  to  his  friend  Mrs.  Davis ;  and  some  sort 
of  viands,  not  at  all  unprepossessing  to  him  in  his  hunger, 
would  always  be  forthcoming  for  him  at  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle." 
This  supply  was  now  closed  to  him.  Were  he,  under  his 
present  circumstances,  to  seek  for  his  dinner  from  the  fair  hands 
of  Norah  Geraghty,  it  would  be  tantamount  to  giving  himself 
up  as  lost  for  ever. 

13* 


298  THE  THREE  CLEEKS. 

This  want  of  a  dinner,  however,  was  a  small  misfortune  in 
comparison  with  others  which  afflicted  him.  Should  or  should 
he  not  keep  his  promise  to  Mrs.  Davis,  and  go  to  the  "  Cat  and 
Whistle"  that  evening?  That ^ was  the  question  which  dis- 
turbed his  equanimity,  and  hindered  him  from  teasing  Mr. 
Snape  in  his  usual  vivacious  manner. 

And  here  let  it  not  be  said  that  Charley  must  be  altogether 
despicable  in  being  so  weak ;  that  he  is  not  only  a  vulgar  rake 
in  his  present  habits,  but  a  fool  also,  and  altogether  spiritless, 
and  of  a  low  disposition.  Persons  who  may  so  argue  of  him, 
who  so  argue  of  those  whom  they  meet  in  the  real  living  world, 
are  ignorant  of  the  twists  and  turns,  and  rapid  changes  in 
character  which  are  brought  about  by  outward  circumstances. 
Many  a  youth,  abandoned  by  his  friends  to  perdition  on  account 
of  his  folly,  might  have  yet  prospered,  had  his  character  not 
been  set  down  as  gone  before,  in  truth,  it  was  well  formed.  It 
is  not  one  calf  only  that  should  be  killed  for  the  returning 
prodigal.  Oh,  fathers,  mothers,  uncles,  aunts,  guardians,  and 
elderly  friends  in  general,  kill  seven  fatted  calves  if  seven  should 
unfortunately  be  necessary  ! 

And  then  there  was  a  third  calamity.  Charley  had,  at  this 
moment,  in  his  pocket  a  certain  document,  which  in  civil  but 
still  somewhat  peremptory  language  invited  him  to  meet  a  very 
celebrated  learned  pundit,  being  no  less  than  one  of  Her 
Majesty's  puisne  judges,  at  some  court  in  Westminster,  to 
explain  why  he  declined  to  pay  to  one  Nathaniel  Outerman,  a 
tailor,  the  sum  of  &c.,  &c.,  &c. ;  and  the  document  then  went 
on  to  say,  that  any  hesitation  on  Charley's  part  to  accept  this 
invitation  would  be  regarded  as  great  contempt  shown  to  the 
said  learned  pundit,  and  would  be  treated  accordingly.  Now 
Charley  had  not  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  this  requisition 
from  the  judge.  It  would,  he  conceived,  have  been  merely 
putting  his  head  into  the  lion's  mouth  to  do  so.  But  yet  he 
knew  that  such  documents  meant  something  ;  that  the  day  of 
grace  was  gone  by,  and  that  Mr.  Nathaniel  Outerman  would 
very  speedily  have  him  locked  up. 

So    Charley    sat    meditative    over    his    lock    entries,    and 
allowed   even   his   proposed  vengeance  on   Mr.  Snape  to  be. 
delayed. 

"  I  say,  Charley,"  said  Scatterall,  coming  over  and  whisper- 
ing to  him,  "  you  couldn't  lend  me  half-a-crown,  could  you  ?" 

Charley  said  nothing,  but  looked  on  his  brother  navvy  in  a 
manner  that  made  any  other  kind  of  reply  quite  unnecessary. 


OUTERMAN  V.  TUDOR.  299 

"I  was  afraid  it  was  so,"  said  Scatterall,  in  a  melanclioly 
voice.  And  then,  as  if  by  the  brilliance  of  his  thought,  he 
had  suddenly  recovered  his  spirits,  he  made  a.  little  propo- 
sition. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  might  do,  Charley.  I  put  my  watch 
up  the  spout  last  week.  It's  a  silver  turnip,  so  I  only  got 
fifteen  shillings  ;  yours  is  a  Cox  and  Savary,  and  it's  gold.  I'm 
sure  you'd  get  3^.  for  it  easily — perhaps  3^.  35.  Now,  if  you'll 
do  that,  and  take  my  turnip  down,  I'll  let  you  have  the  turnip 
to  wear,  if  you'll  let  me  have  ten  shillings  of  the  money.  You 
see  you'd  get  clear — let  me  see  how  much."  And  Scatterall 
went  to  work  with  a  sheet  of  foolscap  paper,  endeavoring  to 
make  some  estimate  of  what  amount  of  ready  cash  Charley 
might  have  in  his  pocket  on  completion  of  this  delicate  little 
arrangement. 

"You  be  d ,"  said  Charley. 

"  You'll  not  do  it  then  ?"  said  Dick. 

Charley  merely  repeated  with  a  little  more  emphasis  the 
speech  which  he  had  just  before  made. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Scatterall ;  "  there  couldn't  have  been 
a  fairer  bargain ;  at  least  it  was  all  on  your  side  ;  for  you 
would  have  had  the  watch  to  wear,  and  nearly  all  the  money 
too." 

Charley  still  repeated  the  same  little  speech.  This  was 
uncivil ;  for  it  had  evidently  been  looked  on  by  Scatterall  as 
unsatisfactory. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  that  gentleman,  now  in  a  state  of  mild 
anger — "  only  I  saw  that  you  had  a  fine  new  purse,  and  I 
thought  you'd  wish  to  have  something  to  put  in  it." 

Charley  again  repeated  his  ofi"ensive  mandate  ;  but  he  did  it 
in  a  spirit  of  bravado,  in  order  to  maintain  his  reputation.  The 
allusion  to  the  purse  made  him  sadder  than  ever.  He  put  his 
hand  into  his  breast-pocket,  and  felt  that  it  was  near  his  heart ; 
and  then  he  fancied  that  he  again  heard  her  words — "  You  will 
be  steady  ;  won't  you,  dear  Charley  ?" 

At  four  o'clock,  he  was  by  no  means  in  his  usual  hurry  to  go 
away,  and  he  sat  there  drawing  patterns  on  his  blotting-paper, 
and  chopping  up  a  stick  of  sealing-wax  with  his  penknife,  in  a 
very  disconsolate  way.  Scatterall  went.  Corkscrew  went.  Mr. 
Snape  having  carefully  brushed  his  hat,  and  taken  down  from 
its  accustomed  peg  the  old  cotton  umbrella,  also  took  his 
departure  ;  and  the  fourth  navvy,  who  inhabited  the  same  room, 
went  also.     The  iron-fingered  hand  of  time  struck  a  quarter 


300  THE   THKEE    CLEEKS. 

pas.t  four  on  tlie  Somerset  House  clock,  and  still  Charley  Tudoi 
lingered  at  his  office.  The  maid  who  came  to  sweep  the  room 
was  thoroughly  amazed,  and  knew  that  something  must  be 
wrong. 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  move,  Mr.  Oldeschole  came  bustling 
into  the  room.  "  Where  is  Corkscrew  ?"  said  he.  "  Gone," 
said  Charley.  "  And  Scatterall  ?"  asked  Oldeschole.  "  Gone, 
sir,"  said  Charley.  "  And  Mr.  Snape  ?"  said  the  Secretary. 
"  Oh,  he  is  gone,  of  course,"  said  Charley,  taking  his  revenge  at 
last. 

"  Then,  Mr.  Tudor,  I  must  trouble  you  to  copy  these  papers 
for  me  at  once.  They  are  wanted  immediately  for  Sir  Gregory 
Hardlines."  It  was  quite  clear  that  Mr.  Oldeschole  was  very 
much  in  earnest  about  the  job,  and  that  he  was  rejoiced  to  find 
that  he  still  had  one  clerk  to  aid  him. 

Charley  sat  down  and  did  the  required  work.  On  any  other 
day  he  would  greatly  have  disliked  such  a  summons,  but  now 
he  did  not  care  much  about  it.  He  made  the  copies,  however, 
as  quickly  as  he  could,  and  then  took  them  in  to  Mr.  Oldeschole. 

The  worthy  Secretary  rewarded  him  by  a  lecture  ;  a  lecture, 
however,  which,  as  Charley  well  understood,  was  intended  all  in 
kindness.  He  told  him  how  Mr.  Snape  complained  of  him, 
how  the  office  books  told  against  him,  how  the  clerks  talked, 
and  all  Somerset  House  made  stories  of  his  grotesque  iniquities. 
With  penitential  air  Charley  listened  and  promised.  Mr. 
Oldeschole  promised  also  that  bygones  should  be  bygones.  "  I 
wonder  whether  the  old  cock  would  lend  me  a  five-pound  note  ! 
I  dare  say  he  would,"  said  Charley  to  himself,  as" he  left  the 
office.     He  abstained,  however,  from  asking  for  it. 

Returning  to  his  room,  he  took  his  hat  and  went  down  stairs. 
As  he  was  sauntering  forth  through  the  archway  into  the  Strand, 
a  man  with  a  decent  coat  but  a  very  bad  hat  came  up  to  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  must  trouble  you  to  go  with  ine,  Mr.  Tudor," 
said  the  man. 

"  All  right,"  said  Charley  ;  "  Outerman,  I  suppose  ;  isn't  it  ?" 

"  All  right,"  said  the  bailiff. 

And  away  the  two  walked  together  to  a  sponging-house  in 
Cursitor  Street. 

Charley  had  been  arrested  at  the  suit  of  Mr.  Outerman,  the 
tailor.  He  perfectly  understood  the  fact,  and  made  no  special 
objection  to  following  the  bailifi".  One  case  was  at  any  rate  oflf 
his  mind  ;  he  could  not  now,  be  his  will  to  do  so  ever  so  good, 
keep  his  appointment  with  Norah  Geraghty.     Perhaps  it  was 


OUTERMAN   V.   TIJDOE.  301 

quite  as  well  for  liim  to  be  arrested  just  at  this  moment,  as  be 
left  at  liberty.  It  must  have  come  sooner  or  later.  So  he 
"walked  on  with  the  bailiff  not  without  some  feeling  of  consola- 
tion. 

The  man  had  suggested  to  him  a  cab  ;  but'Charley  had  told 
him,  without  the  slightest  mauvaise  honte,  that  he  had  not 
about  him  the  means  of  paying  for  a  cab.  The  man  again 
suggested  that  perhaps  he  had  better  go  home  and  get  some 
money,  as  he  would  find  it  in  Cursitor  Street  very  desirable  to 
have  some.  To  this  Charley  replied  that  neither  had  he  any 
money  at  home. 

"  That's  blue,"  said  the  man. 

"  It  is  rather  blue,"  said  Charley  ;  and  on  they  went  very 
amicably  arm-in-arm. 

We  need  not  give  any  detailed  description  of  Charley's 
prison-house.  He  was  luckily  not  detained  there  so  long  as 
to  make  it  necessary  that  we  should  become  acquainted  with 
his  fellow-captives,  or  even  have  much  intercourse  with  his 
jailers.  He  was  taken  to  the  sponging-house,  and  it  was  there 
imparted  to  him  that  he  had  better  send  for  two  things — first 
of  all  for  money,  which  was  by  far  the  more  desirable  of  the 
two ;  and  secondly,  for  bail,  which  even  if  forthcoming  was 
represented  as  being  at  best  but  a  dubious  advantage. 

"  There's  Mrs.  Davis,  she'd  bail  you,  of  course,  and  willing," 
said  the  bailiff. 

"  Mrs.  Davis  !"  said  Charley,  surprised  that  the  man  should 
know  aught  of  his  personal  acquaintances. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Davis  of  the  'Cat  and  Whistle.'  She'd  do  it  in 
^ourse,  along  of  Miss  Geraghty." 

Charley  perceived  with  a  shudder  that  his  matrimonial 
arrangements  were  known  and  talked  of  even  in  the  distant 
world  of  Cursitor  Street.  He  declined,  however,  the  assistance 
of  the  landlady,  which  no  doubt  would  have  been  willingly 
forthcoming,  and  was  divided  between  his  three  friends,  Alaric, 
Harry,  and  Mr.  M'Ruen.  Alaric  was  his  cousin  and  his  natural 
resource  in  such  a  position,  but  he  had  lately  rejected  Alaric's 
advice,  and  now  felt  a  disinclination  to  call  upon  him  in  his 
difficulty.  Harry  he  knew  would  assist  him,  would  at  once  pay 
Mr.  Outerman's  bill,  and  relieve  him  from  all  immediate  danger ; 
but  the  sense  of  what  he  already  owed  to  Norman  made  him 
unwilling  to  incur  further  obligations; — so  he  decided  on  send- 
ing for  Mr.  M'Ruen.  In  spite  of  his  being  so  poorly  supplied 
with  immediate  cash,  it  was  surmised  from  his   appearance, 


302  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

clothes,  and  known  rank,  that  any  little  outlay  made  in  his 
behalf  would  be  probably  repaid,  and  he  was  therefore  furnished 
with  a  messenger  on  credit.  This  man  was  first  to  call  at  Mr. 
Mc'Ruen's  with  a  note,  and  then  to  go  to  Charley's  lodgings 
and  get  his  brushes,  razors,  <fcc.,  these  being  the  first  necessaries 
of  life  for  which  a  man  naturally  looks  when  once  overtaken  by 
such  a  misfortune  as  that  with  which  Charley  was  now  afllicted. 

In  the  process  of  time  the  brushes  and  razors  came,  and  so 
did  Mr.  M'Ruen. 

"  This  is  very  kind  of  you,''  said  Charley,  in  rather  a  doleful 
voice,  for  he  was  already  becoming  tired  of  Cursitor  Street. 

Mr.  M'Ruen  twisted  his  head  round  inside  his  cravat,  and  put 
out  three  fingers  by  w^ay  of  shaking  hands  with  the  prisoner. 

"  You  seem  pretty  comfortable  here,"  said  M'Ruen.  Charley 
dissented  to  this,  and  said  that  he  was  extremely  uncomfortable. 

"  And  what  is  it  that  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Tudor  ?"  said 
M'Ruen. 

"  Do  for  me  !  "Why  bail  me  to  be  sure  ;  they  won't  let  me 
out  unless  somebody  bails  me.     You  know  I  shan't  run  away." 

"Bail  you!"  said  M'Ruen. 

"  Yes,  'bail  me,"  said  Charley.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  any  objection  ?" 

Mr.  M'Ruen  looked  very  sharply  at  his  young  client  from 
head  to  foot.  "  I  don't  know  about  bail,"  he  said  ;  "  it's  very 
dangerous,  very  ;  why  didn't  you  send  for  Mr.  Norman  or  your 
cousin  ?" 

"  Because  I  didn't  choose,"  said  Charley, — "  because  I  pre- 
ferred sending  to  some  one  I  could  pay  for  the  trouble." 

"Ha — ha — ha,"  laughed  M'Ruen;  "but  that's  just  it — can 
you  pay  ?  You  owe  me  a  great  deal  of  money,  Mr.  Tudor. 
You  are  so  unpunctual  you  know." 

"  There  are  two  ways  of  telling  that  story,"  said  Charley ; 
"  but  come,  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  yon  about  that  now — 
you  go  bail  for  me  now,  and  you'll  find  your  advantage  in  it. 
You  know  that  well  enough." 

"  Ha — ha — ha,"  laughed  the  good-humored  usurer ;  "  ha — ha 
— ha — well,  upon  my  word  I  don't  know.  You  owe  me  a  great 
deal  of  money,  Mr.  Tudor.  Now,  what  o'clock  is  it  by  you,  I 
wonder  ?" 

Charley  took  out  his  watch — the  Cox  and  Savary,  before 
alluded  to — and  said  that  it  was  past  seven. 

"Ay;  you've  a  very  nice  watch,  I  see.  Come,  Mr.  Tudor, 
you   owe  me  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  you  are  the  most 


OUTEKMAN   V.   TUDOK.  303 

unpunctual  young  man  I  know ;  but  yet  I  don't  like  to  see  you 
distressed.  I'll  tell  you  what  now — do  you  hand  over  your 
watch  to  rae,  just  as  a  temporary  loan — you  can't  want  it  here, 
you  know ;  and  I'll  come  down  and  bail  you  out  to-morrow." 

Charley  declined  dealing  on  these  terms ;  and  then  Mr. 
M'Ruen  at  last  went  away,  leaving  Charley  to  his  fate,  and 
lamenting  quite  pathetically  that  he  was  such  an  unpunctual 
young  man,  so  very  unpunctual  that  it  was  impossible  to  do 
anything  to  assist  him.  Charley,  however,  manfully  resisted 
the  second  attack  upon  his  devoted  watch. 

"  That's  very  blue,  very  blue  indeed,"  said  the  master  of  the 
house,  as  Mr.  M'Ruen  took  his  departure — "  ha'n't  you  got  no 
huncles  nor  hants,  nor  nothin'  of  that  sort  ?" 

Charley  declared  that  he  had  lots  of  uncles  and  aunts,  grand- 
fathers and  grandmothers,  and  a  perfect  wealth  of  cousins,  and 
that  he  would  send  for  some  of  the  leading  members  of  his 
family  to-morrow.  Satisfied  with  this,  the  man  supplied  him 
with  bread  and  cheese,  gin  and  water,  and  plenty  of  tobacco, 
and,  fortified  with  these  comforts,  Charley  betook  himself  at 
last  very  lugubriously,  to  a  filthy  uninviting  bed. 

He  had,  we  have  seen,  sent  for  his  brushes  and  hence  came 
escape ;  but  in  a  manner  that  he  had  little  recked  of,  and  of 
which,  had  he  been  asked,  he  would  as  little  have  approved. 
Mrs.  Richards,  his  landlady,  was  not  slow  in  learning  from  the 
messenger  how  it  came  to  pass  that  Charley  wanted  the  articles 
of  his  toilet  so  suddenly  demanded.  "Why,  you  see,  he's  just 
been  quodded,"  said  the  boy. 

Mrs.  Richards  was  quite  enough  up  to  the  world,  and  had 
dealt  with  young  men  long  enough  to  know  what  this  meant ; 
nor  indeed  was  she  much  surprised.  She  had  practical  know- 
ledge that  Charley  had  no  strong  propensity  to  pay  his  debts, 
and  she  herself  was  not  unaccustomed  to  answer  the  emissaries 
of  Mr.  Outerman  and  other  greedy  tradesmen  who  were  simi- 
larly situated.  To  Mrs.  Richards  herself  Charley  was  not  in 
debt,  and  she  had  therefore  nothing  to  embitter  her  own  feel- 
ings against  him.  Indeed,  she  had  all  that  fondness  for  him 
which  a  lodging-house  keeper  generally  has  for  a  handsome, 
dissipated,  easy-tempered  young  man  ;  and  when  she  heard  that 
he  had  been  "quodded,"  immediately  made  up  her  mind  that 
steps  must  be  taken  for  his  release. 

But  what  was  she  to  do  ?  Norman,  who  she  wds  aware 
would  "  unquod"  him  immediately,  if  he  were  in  the  way,  was 
down  at  Hampton,  and  was  not  expected  to  be  at  his  lodgings 


304  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

for  two  or  three  days.  After  some  cogitation,  Mrs.  Richards 
resolved  that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  down  to  Hamp- 
ton herself,  and  break  the  news  to  his  friends.  Charley  would 
not  have  been  a  bit  obliged  to  her  had  he  known  it,  but  Mrs. 
Richards  acted  for  the  best.  There  was  a  train  down  to  Hamp- 
ton Court  that  night,  and  a  return  train  to  bring  her  home 
again — so  off  she  started. 

Mrs.  Woodward  had  on  that  same  afternoon  taken  down 
Katie,  who  was  still  an  invalid  ; — Norman  had  gone  down  with 
them,  and  was  to  remain  there  for  some  few  days — going  up 
and  down  every  morning  and  evening.  Mrs.  Woodward  was 
sitting  in  the  drawing-room ;  Linda  and  Katie  were  with  her, 
the  latter  lying  in  state  on  her  sofa  as  invalid  young  ladies 
should  do ;  Captain  Cutt water  was  at  Hampton  Court,  and 
Norman  was  on  the  water ;  when  a  fly  from  the  railway  made 
its  way  up  to  the  door  of  the  cottage. 

"Mrs.  Richards,  ma'am,"  said  the  demure  parlor-maid, 
ushering  in  the  lodging-house  keeper,  who  in  her  church-going 
best  made  a  very  decent  appearance. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Richards,  how  are  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Woodward, 
who  knew  the  woman  very  well — "  pray  sit  down — are  there 
any  news  from  London  ?" 

"  Oh,   ma'am,  such  news — such  bad  news — Mister  Charley 

."     Up  jumped  Katie  from  her  sofa  and  stood  erect  upon 

the  floor.  She  stood  there,  with  her  mouth  slightly  open,  with 
her  eyes  intently  fixed  on  Mrs.  Richards,  with  her  little  hands 
each  firmly  clenched,  drawing  her  breath  with  hard,  short,  pal- 
pitating efforts.     There  she  stood,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Richards — what  is  it  V  said  Mrs.  Woodward  :  "  for 
Heaven's  sake  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Oh,  ma'am  ;  he's  been  took,"  said  Mrs.  Richards. 

"  Took  !"  repeated  Mrs.  Woodward.  "  Katie,  dear  Katie, — 
sit  down,  my  child — sit  down." 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  oh,  mamma !"  said  she,  apparently  unable  to 
move,  and  certainly  all  but  unable  to  stand. 

"  Tell  us,  Mrs.  Richards,  what  is  it — what  has  happened  to  Mr. 
Tudor  ?"  and  as  she  spoke  Mrs.  Woodward  got  up  and  passed 
her  arm  around  her  younger  daughter's  waist — Linda  also  got 
up  and  joined  the  group. 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Richards,  "  he's  been  took  by  the 
bailiffs,  and  now  he's  in  prison." 

Katie  did  not  faint.  She  never  had  fainted,  and  probably  did 
not  know  the  way ;  but  she  clenched  her  hands  still  tighter, 


OUTERMAN   V.    TUDOR.  305 

breathed  harder  than  before,  and  repeated  her  appeal  to  her 
mother  in  a  voice  of  agony.     "  Oh,  mamma  !  oh,  mamma  1" 

Katie  had  no  very  accurate  conception  of  what  an  arrest  for 
debt  meant.  She  knew  that  next  to  death  imprisonment  was 
the  severest  punishment  inflicted  on  erring  mortals,  and  she  now 
heard  that  Charley  was  in  prison.  She  did  not  stop  to  think 
whether  it  was  for  his  life,  or  for  some  more  limited  period.  It 
was  enough  for  her  to  know  that  this  terrible  misfortune  had 
come  upon  him,  to  him,  who,  to  her  young  fancy,  was  so  bright, 
so  good,  so  clever,  so  excellent,  upon  him  who  had  saved  her 
life — upon  him  whom  she  so  dearly  loved. 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  oh,  mamma  !"  she  said,  and  then  in  agony  she 
shut  her  eyes  and  shuddered  violently. 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  greatly  afflicted.  She  was  indeed  sorry 
to  hear  such  tidings  of  Charley  Tudor;  but  her  grief  was  now 
deeper  even  than  that.  She  could  not  be  longer  blind  to  the 
sort  of  feeling  which  her  child  evinced  for  this  young  man  ;  she 
could  not  think  that  these  passionate  bursts  of  overpowering 
sorrow  were  the  result  of  mere  childish  friendship;  she  could 
not  but  see  that  her  Katie's  bosom  now  held  a  woman's  heart, 
and  that  that  heart  was  no  longer  her  own. 

And  then  Mrs.  Woodward  reflected  of  what  nature,  of  what 
sort,  was  this  man  whom  she  had  allowed  to  associate  with  her 
darling,  almost  as  a  brother  does  with  his  sister ;  whom  she  had 
warmed  in  her  bosom  till  he  had  found  an  opportunity  of  inflict- 
ing this  deadly  wound.  With  terrible  bitterness  she  upbraided 
herself  as  she  sat  down  and  bade  Mrs.  Richards  go  on  with  her 
tale.  She  knew  that  nothing  which  could  now  be  said  would 
add  to  Katie's  anguish. 

Mrs.  Richards'  story  was  soon  told.  It  simply  amounted  to 
this — that  "  Mister  Charley,"  as  she  always  called  him,  had  been 
arrested  for  debt  at  the  suit  of  a  tailor,  and  that  she  had  learnt 
the  circumstances  from  the  fact  of  the  prisoner  having  sent  for 
his  brushes. 

"  And  so  I  thought  the  best  thing  was  to  come  and  tell  Mr. 
Norman,"  said  Mrs.  Richards,  concluding  her  speech. 

Nothing  could  be  done  till  Norman  came  in.  Linda  went  out 
with  Mrs.  Richards  to  get  some  refreshment  in  the  dining-room, 
and  Mrs.  Woodward  sat  with  her  arm  round  Katie's  neck  on  the 
sofa,  comforting  her  with  kisses  and  little  caressing  touches,  but 
saying  nothing.  Katie,  still  unconscious  of  her  passion,  gave 
way  to  spasmodic  utterance  of  her  own  grief. 

"  Oh,  mamma  !"  she  said — "what  can  be  done  ?     What  can 


306  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

we  do  ?  You  will  do  something,  mamma,  won't  you  ?  Poor 
Charley  !  Dear  Charley  !  Harry  will  do  something — won't 
he  ?     Won't  Harry  go  to  London  and  do  something  ?" 

Mrs.  Woodward  did  what  she  could  to  quiet  her.  "  Some- 
thing should  be  done,"  she  said.  They  must  wait  till  Harry 
came  in,  and  then  settle  what  was  best.  Nothing  could  be  done 
till  Harry  came  in.  "You  must  be  patient,  Katie,  or  else  you 
will  make  yourself  really  ill." 

Katie  became  afraid  that  she  would  be  sent  off  to  bed  on  the 
score  of  her  illness  before  Harry  had  come,  and  thus  lose  the 
advantage  of  hearing  what  was  the  step  decided  on.  So  she 
sat  silent  in  the  corner  of  her  sofa  feigning  to  be  asleep,  but 
pondering  in  her  mind  what  sort  of  penalties  were  the  penalties 
of  imprisonment,  how  dreadful,  how  endurable,  or  how  unen- 
durable. Would  they  put  chains  on  him  ?  would  they  starve 
him?  would  they  cut  off  his  beautiful  brown  hair? 

Mrs.  Woodward  sat  silent  waiting  for  Harry's  return.  When 
first  she  had  watched  Katie's  extreme  misery,  and  guessed  the 
secret,  of  her  child's  heart,  she  had  felt  something  hke  hard  bit- 
ter anger  against  Charley.  But  by  degrees  this  feeling  softened 
down.  It  was  by  no  means  natural  to  her,  nor  akin  to  her  usual 
tenderness.  After  all,  the  fault  hitherto  was  probably  more  her 
own  than  his. 

Mrs.  Richards  was  sent  back  to  town.  She  was  thanked  for 
the  trouble  she  had  taken,  and  told  that  Mr.  Norman  would  do 
in  the  matter  all  that  was  necessary  to  be  done.  So  she  took 
her  departure,  and  Linda  returned  to  the  drawing-room. 

Unfortunately  Captain  Cuttwater  came  in  first.  They  none 
of  them  mentioned  Charley's  misfortune  to  him.  Charley  was 
no  favorite  with  Uncle  Bat,  and  his  remarks  would  not  have 
been  of  the  most  cheering  tendency. 

At  last  Norman  came  also.  He  came,  as  was  his  wont,  through 
the  drawing-room  window,  and,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair, 
began  to  tell  the  girls  how  much  they  had  lost  by  not  joining 
him  on  the  river. 

"  Harry,"  said.  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  step  into  the  dining-room 
with  me  for  a  moment." 

Harry  got  up  to  follow  her.  Katie  and  Linda  also  instantly 
jumped  from  their  seats  to  do  the  same.  Mrs.  Woodward 
looked  round,  and  motioned  to  them  to  stay  with  their  uncle. 
Linda  obediently,  though  reluctantly,  remained ;  but  Katie's 
impulse  was  too  strong  for  her.  She  gave  one  imploring  look 
at  her  mother,  a  look  which  Mrs.  W^oodward  well  understood, 


OUTEEMAN   V.   TUDOR.  oOl 

and  then  taking  silence  for  consent,  crept  into  the  dining- 
room. 

"  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  as  soon  as  the  dining-room 
door  was  closed,  "  Charley  has  been  arrested  ;"  and  then  she 
told  him  how  Mrs.  Richards  had  been  at  the  Cottage,  and  what 
was  the  nature  of  the  tidings  she  had  brought. 

Norman  w^as  not  much  surprised,  nor  did  he  feign  to  be  so. 
He  took  the  news  so  coolly  that  Katie  almost  hated  him. 
"  Did  she  say  who  had  arrested  him,  or  what  w- as  the  amount  ?" 
he  asked. 

Mrs.  Woodward  replied  that  she  knew  no  more  than  what 
she  had  already  told.  Katie  stood  in  the  shade,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  cousin,  but  as  yet  she  said  nothing.  How  cruel, 
how  stony-hearted  must  he  be  to  hear  such  dreadful  tidings  and 
remain  thus  undisturbed  !  Had  Charley  heard  that  Norman 
was  arrested,  he  would  have  been  half  way  to  London  by  this 
time.     So,  at  least,  thought  Katie. 

"  Something  can  be  done  for  him,  Harry,  can  there  not  ? 
We  must  contrive  to  do  something, — eh,  Harry  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward. 

"  I  fear  it  is  too  late  to  do  anything  to-night,"  said  Harry, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "  The  last  train  is  gone,  and  I  could  not 
possibly  find  him  out  before  twelve." 

"And  to-morrow  is  Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  Oh,  Harry,  pray  do  something  !"  said  Katie,  "  pray,  pray, 
pray,  do !  Oh,  Harry,  think  of  Charley  being  in  prison  !  Oh, 
Harry,  he  would  do  anything  for  you  !"  and  then  she  burst  into 
tears,  and  caught  hold  of  Harry's  arm  and  the  front  of  his  coat 
to  add  force  to  her  entreaty. 

"  Katie,"  said  her  mother,  "  don't  be  so  foolish.  Harry  will, 
of  course,  do  whatever  is  best." 

"  But,  mamma,  he  says  he  will  do  nothing;  why  does  he  not 
go  at  once?" 

"  I  will  go  at  once,  dear  Katie,"  said  he ;  "  I  will  go  now, 
directly.  I  don't  know  whether  w^e  can  set  him  free  to-night, 
or  even  to-morrow,  as  to-morrow  is  Sunday  ;  but  it  certainly 
shall  be  done  on  Monday,  you  may  be  sure  of  that,  at  any  rate. 
Whatever  can  be  done,  shall  be  done;"  and  without  further  talk 
upon  the  subject,  he  took  his  hat  and  went  his  way. 

"  May  God  Almighty  bless  him !"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 
"  How  infinitely  greater  are  truth  and  honesty  than  any  talent, 
however  brilliant !"    She  spoke  only  to  herselK  and  no  one  even 


308  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

guessed  what  was  the  nature  of  the  comparison  which  she  thus 
made. 

As  soon  as  Norman  was  gone,  Katie  w^ent  to  bed ;  and  in  the 
morning  she  was  pronounced  to  be  too  unwell  to  get  up.  And, 
indeed,  she  was  far  from  well.  During  the  night  she  only  slept 
by  short  starts,  and  in  her  sleep  she  was  restless  and  uneasy ;  then, 
when  she  woke,  she  would  burst  out  into  fits  of  tears,  and  lie 
sobbing  hysterically  till  she  slept  again.  In  the  morning,  Mrs. 
Woodward  said  something  about  Charley's  misconduct,  and  this 
threw  her  into  a  wretched  state  of  misery,  from  which  nothing 
would  rouse  her  till  her  mother  promised  that  the  prodigal 
should  not  be  thrown  over  and  abandoned. 

Poor  Mrs.  Woodward  was  in  a  dreadful  state  of  doubt  as  to 
what  it  now  behoved  her  to  do.  She  felt  that,  however  anxious 
she  might  be  to  assist  Charley  for  his  own  sake,  it  was  her 
bounden  duty  to  separate  him  from  her  child.  Whatever  merits 
he  might  have — and  in  her  own  eyes  he  had  many — at  any 
rate  he  had  not  those  which  a  mother  would  desire  to  see  in 
the  future  husband  of  her  daughter.  He  was  profligate,  extra- 
vagant, careless,  and  idle ;  his  prospects  in  life  were  in  every 
respect  bad  ;  he  had  no  self-respect,  no  self-reliance,  no  moral 
strength.  Was  it  not  absolutely  necessary^thlit  she  should  put 
a  stop  to  any  love  that  might  have  sprung  up  between  such  a 
man  as  this  and  her  own  young  bright-eyed  darling? 

Put  a  stop  to  it !  Yes,  indeed,  most  expedient ;  nay,  abso- 
lutely necessary — if  it  wer£  only  possible.  Now,  when  it  was 
too  late,  she  began  to  perceive  that  she  had  not  known  of  what 
material  her  own  child  was  formed.  At  sixteen,  Gertrude  and 
Linda  had  in  reality  been  little  more  than  children.  In  manner, 
Katie  had  been  more  childish  even  than  them,  and  yet — Mrs. 
Woodward,  as  she  thought  of  these  things,  felt  her  heart  faint 
within  her. 

She  vi^as  resolved  that,  cost  what  it  might,  Charley  must  be 
banished  from  the  Cottage.  But  at  the  first  word  of  assumed 
displeasure  that  she  uttered,  Katie  fell  into  such  an  agony  of 
grief  that  her  soft  heart  gave  away,  and  she  found  herself 
obliged  to  promise  that  the  sinner  should  be  forgiven.  Katie 
the  while  was  entirely  unconscious  of  the  state  of  her  own  feel- 
ings. Had  she  thought  that  she  loved  him  as  women  love,  had 
any  thought  of  such  love  and  of  him  together  even  entered  her 
mind,  she  could  not  have  talked  of  him  as  she  now  talked. 
Had  he  been  her  brother,  she  could  not  have  been  less  guarded 
in  her  protestations  of  aff"ection,  or  more  open  in  her  appeals  to 


EASY   IS   THE    SLOPE    OF   UELL.  309 

her  mother  that  he  might  be  forgiven.  Such  was  her  present 
state ;  but  it  was  doomed  that  her  eyes  should  soon  be  opened, 
and  that  she  should  know  her  own  sorrow. 

On  the  Sunday  afternoon,  Norman  returned  to  Hampton 
with  the  tidings  that  Charley  was  once  more  a  free  man.  The 
key  of  gold  which  he  had  taken  with  him  had  been  found 
potent  enough  to  open  all  barriers,  even  those  with  which  the 
sanctity  of  Sunday  had  surrounded  the  prisoner.  Mr.  Outer- 
man,  and  the  bailiff,  and  the  messenger,  had  all  been  paid  their 
full  claims,  and  Charley,  with  his  combs  and  brushes,  had 
returned  to  the  more  benign  custody  of  Mrs.  Richards. 

"  And  why  didn't  he  come  down  with  you  ?"  said  Katie  to 
Norman,  who  had  gone  up  to  her  bedroom  to  give  her  the  good 
tidings. 

Norman  looked  at  Mrs.  Woodward,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  He  would  probably  prefer  remaining  in  town  at  present," 
said  Mrs.  Woodward.  "  It  will  be  more  comfortable  for  him  to 
do  so." 

An.d  then  Katie  was  left  alone  to  meditate  why  Charley 
should  be  more  comfortable  after  his  arrest  in  London  than  at 
Hampton  ;  and  after  a  while  she  thought  that  she  had  surmised 
the  truth.  "  Poor  Charley  !  perhaps  he  is  ashamed.  He  need 
not  be  ashamed  to  come  at  any  rate  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

EASY    IS    THE    SLOPE    OF    HELL. 


The  electors  for  the  Tillietudlem  district  burghs,  disguste'(cN^ 
by  the  roguery  of  Mr.  M'Buffer,  and  anxiously  on  the  alert  to 
replace  him  by  a  strictly  honest  man,  returned  our  friend  Undy 
by  a  glorious  majority.  He  had  no  less  than  312  votes,  as- 
opposed  to  297,  and  though  threatened  with  the  pains  and 
penalties  of  a  petition,  he  was  not  a  little  elated  by  his  success. 
A  petition  with  regard  to  the  Tillietudlem  burghs  was  almost 
as  much  a  matter  of  course  as  a  contest ;  at  any  rate  the  threat 
of  a  petition  was  so.  Undy,  however,  had  lived  through  this 
before,  and  did  not  fear  but  that  he  might  do  so  again.  Threat- 
ened folks  live  long ;  parliamentary  petitions  are  very  costly, 
and  Undy's  adversaries  were,  if  possible,  even  in  more  need  of 
money  than  himself. 

He  communicated  his  good  fortune  to  his  friend  Alaric  in 
the  following  letter : — 


310  THE   THKEE    CLERKS. 

'Bellenden  Arms,  Tillietudlem,  July,  185 — . 
"  My  dear  Director, 

"  Here  I  am  once  more  a  constituent  part  of  the  legislative 
"wisdom  of  the  United  Kingdom,  thanks  to  the  patriotic 
discretion  of  the  pot-wallopers,  bm-gage-tenants,  and  ten-pound 
freeholders  of  these  loyal  towns.  The  situation  is  a  proud  one; 
I  could  only  w^ish  that  it  had  been  less  expensive.  I  am 
plucked  as  clean  as  ever  was  pigeon  ;  and  over  and  above  the 
loss  of  every  feather  I  carried,  old  M'Cleury,  my  agent  here, 
will  have  a  bill  against  me  that  will  hardly  be  settled  before  the 
next  election.  I  do  not  complain,  however ;  a  man  cannot 
have  luxuries  without  paying  for  them  ;  and  this  special  luxury 
of  serving  one's  country  in  Parliament  is  one  for  which  a  man 
has  so  often  to  pay,  without  the  subsequent  fruition  of  the 
thing  paid  for,  that  a  successful  candidate  should  never  grumble, 
however  much  he  may  have  been  mulcted.  They  talk  of  a 
petition  ;  but  thank  God,  there  are  still  such  things  as  recogni- 
zances :  and,  moreover,  to  give  M'Cleury  his  due,  I  do  not 
think  he  has  left  a  hole  open  for  them  to  work  at.  He  is  a 
thorough  rascal,  but  no  man  does  better  -work. 

"  I  find  there  is  already  a  slight  rise  in  the  West  Corks. 
Keep  your  eye  open.  If  j^ou  find  you  can  realise  41.  4s. 
or  even  41.,  sell,  and  let  the  West  of  Cork  and  Ballydehob  go 
straight  to  the  devil.  We  should  then  be  able  to  do  better 
with  our  money.  But  I  doubt  of  such  a  salejxjth  so  large  a 
stock  as  we  hold.  I  got  a  letter  yesterday  from  that  Cork 
attorney,  and  I  find  that  he  is  quite  prepared  to  give  way  about 
the  branch.  He  wants  his  price,  of  course ;  and  he  must  have 
it.  When  once  we  have  carried  that  point,  then  it  wnll  be 
plain  sailing ;  our  only  regret  then  will  be  that  we  didn't  go 
further  into  it.  The  calls,  of  course,  must  be  met ;  I  shall  be 
able  to  do  something  in  October,  but  shall  not  have  a  shilling 
sooner, — unless  I  sell,  which  I  will  not  do  under  805. 

"I  was  delighted  to  hear  of  your  promotion  ;  not  that  you'll 
remain  in  the  shop  long,  but  it  gives  you  a  better  name  and  a 
better  claim.  Old  Golightly  was  buried  yesterday,  as  of  course 
you  have  heard.  Mrs.  Val  quite  agrees  with  me  that  your 
name  had  better  be  put  in  as  that  of  Clem's  trustee.     She's 

going  to  marry  that  d- Frenchman.     What  an  unmitigated 

ass  that  cousin  of  yours  must  be  !  I  can't  say  I  admire  her 
taste ;  but  nevertheless  she  is  welcome  for  me.  It  would,  how- 
ever, be   most   scandalous   if  we  were   to   allow  him  to   get 


EASY    IS   THE    SLOPE    OF    HELL.  311 

possession  of  her  money.  He  would,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
make  ducks  and  drakes  of  it  in  no  time.  Speculate  probably 
in  some  Russian  railway,  or  Polish  mine,  and  lose  every  shilling. 
You  will  of  course  see  it  tied  up  tight  in  the  hands  of  the 
trustees,  and  merely  pay  him,  or  if  possible  her,  the  interest  of 
it.  Now  that  I  am  once  more  in,  I  do  hope  we  shall  be  able  to 
do  something  to  protect  the  fortunes  of  married  women. 

"  You  will  be  quite  safe  in  laying  out  Clem's  money,  or  a 
portion  of  it,  in  the  West  Corks.  Indeed  I  don't  know  how 
you  could  well  do  better  with  it.  You  will  find  Figgs  a  mere 
shadow.     I  think  we  can  pull  through  in  this  manner.     If  not 

we  must  get to  take  our  joint  bill.     He  would  sooner  do 

that  than  have  the  works  stopped.  But  then  we  should  have 
to  pay  a  tremendous  price  for  it. 

"  So  w^e  were  well  out  of  the  Mary  Janes  at  last.  The  take 
last  month  was  next  to  nothing,  and  now  she's  full  of  w^ater. 
Manylodes  hung  on  till  just  the  last,  and  yet  got  out  on  his 
feet  after  all.  That  fellow  will  make  a  mint  of  money  yet. 
What  a  pity  that  he  should  be  such  a  rogue  !  If  he  were 
honest,  honest  enough  I  mean  to  be  trusted,  he  might  do 
anything. 

"  I  shall  leave  this  on  Wednesday  night,  take  the  oaths  on 
Thursday,  and  will  see  you  in  the  evening.  McCarthy  Desmond 
will  at  once  move  that  I  be  put  on  the  West  Cork  Committee, 
in  place  of  Nogo,  who  won't  act.  My  shares  are  all  at  present 
registered  in  Val's  name.  It  will  be  well,  however,  to  have 
them  all  transferred  to  you. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"U.S. 

"  M'Cleury  has  pledged  himself  to  put  me  in  again  without 
further  expense,  if  I  have  to  stand  before  the  next  general 
election,  in  consequence  of  taking  place  under  Government.  I 
earnestly  hope  his  sincerity  may  be  tried." 


During  the  month  of  July,  Alaric  was  busy  enough.  He 
had  to  do  the  work  of  his  new  oflSce,  to  attend  to  his  somewhat 
critical  duties  as  director  of  the  West  Cork  Railway,  to  look 
after  the  interests  of  Miss  Golightly,  whose  marriage  was  to 
take  place  in  August,  and  to  watch  the  Parliamentary  career 
of  his  friend  TJndy,  with  whose  pecuniary  affairs  he  was  now 
bound  up  in  a  manner  which  he  could  not  avoid  feeling  to  be 
very  perilous. 

July  passed  by,  and  was  now  over,  and  members  were  look- 


312  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

ing  to  be  relieved  from  tlieir  sultry  labors,  and  to  be  allowed 
to  seek  air  and  exercise  on  the  mountains.  The  Ballydehob 
branch  line  had  received  the  sanction  of  Parhament  through 
the  means  which  the  crafty  Undy  had  so  well  understood  how 
to  use ;  but  from  some  cause  hitherto  not  sufficiently  fathomed, 
the  shares  had  continued  to  be  depressed  in  value  in  spite  of 
that  desirable  event.  It  was  necessary,  however,  that  calls 
should  be  paid  up  to  the  amount  of  bl.  a  share,  and  as  Undy 
and  Alaric  held  nearly  a  thousand  shares  between  them,  a  large 
amount  of  money  was  required.  This,  however,  was  made  to 
be  forthcoming  from  Miss  Golightly's  fortune. 

On  the  first  of  August  that  interesting  young  lady  was  mar- 
ried to  the  man — shall  we  say  of  her  heart  or  of  her  feet  ? 
The  marriage  went  off  very  nicely,  but  as  we  have  already  had 
one  wedding,  and  as  others  may  perhaps  be  before  us,  we  can- 
not spare  much  time  or  many  pages  to  describe  how  Miss 
Golightly  became  Madame  Jaquetanape.  The  lady  seemed  well 
pleased  with  everything  that  was  done,  and  had  even  in  secret 
but  one  care  in  the  world.  There  was  to  be  a  dance  after  she 
and  her  Victoire  were  gone,  and  she  could  not  join  in  it ! 

We,  however,  are  in  the  position,  as  regards  Clementina,  in 
which  needy  gentlemen  not  unfrequently  place  themselves  with 
reference  to  rich  heiresses.  We  have'  more  concern  with  her 
money  than  herself.  She  was  married,  and  M.  Jaquetanape 
became  the  happy  possessor  of  an  income  of  800Z.  a-year. 
Everybody  conceived  him  to  behave  well  on  the  occasion.  He 
acknowledged  that  he  had  very  little  means  of  his  own — about 
4,000  francs  a-year,  from  rents  in  Paris.  He  expressed  himself 
willing  to  agree  to  any  settlement,  thinking,  perhaps  with  wis- 
dom, that  he  might  in  this  way  best  make  sure  of  his  wife's 
income,  and  was  quite  content  when  informed  that  he  would 
receive  his  quarterly  payments  from  so  respectable  a  source  as 
one  of  Her  Majesty's  Commissioners  for  the  regulation  of  the 
Civil  Service.  The  Bank  of  France  could  not  have  offered 
better  security. 

Thus  Alaric  obtained  full  control  of  Miss  Golightly's  fortune  : 
for  Figgs,  his  co-trustee,  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  shadow.  He 
obtained  the  full  control  of  20,000/.,  and  out  of  it  he  paid  the 
calls  due  upon  the  West  Cork  shares,  held  both  by  himself  and 
TJndy  Scott.  But  he  put  a  salve  upon  his  conscience,  and 
among  his  private  memoranda  appertaining  to  that  lady's  mo- 
ney affairs  he  made  an  entry,  intelligible  to  any  who  miglit 
read  it,  that  he  had  so  invested  this  money  on  her  behalf.    The 


EASY   IS   THE   SLOPE    OF    HELL.  813 

entry  was  in  itself  a  lie — a  foolish,  palpable  lie — and  yet  he 
found  in  it  something  to  quiet  remorse  and  stupefy  his  con- 
science. 

Undy  Scott  had  become  tyrannical  in  his  logic  as  soon  as  he 
had  persuaded  Alaric  to  make  use  of  a  portion  of  Madame 
Jaquetanape's  marriage  portion.  "You  have  taken  part  of  the 
girl's  money,"  was  Undy's  argument ;  "you  have  already  con- 
verted to  your  own  purposes  so  much  of  her  fortune ;  it  is 
absurd  for  you  now  to  talk  of  conscience  and  honesty,  of  your 
high  duties  as  a  trustee,  of  the  inviolable  distinction  between 
meum  and  tuum.  You  have  already  shown  that  the  distinction  is 
not  inviolable ;  let  us  have  no  more  such  nonsense ;  there  are 
still  left  15,000Z.  on  which  we  can  trade ;  open  the  till,  and  let 
us  go  on  swimmingly  with  the  business." 

Alaric  was  not  addressed  absolutely  in  these  words  ;  he  would 
not  probably  have  allowed  the  veil  with  which  he  still  shroud- 
ed his  dishonesty  to  be  withdrawn  with  so  rough  a  hand ;  but 
that  which  was  said  was  in  effect  the  same.  In  September  he 
left  town  for  a  few  weeks  and  went  down  to  Scotland,  still  with 
Undy  Scott.  He  had  at  first  much  liked  this  man's  society,  for 
Scott  was  gay,  lively,  clever,  and  a  good  companion  at  all  points. 
But  latterly  he  had  become  weary  of  him.  He"  now  put  up 
with  him  as  men  in  business  have  to  put  up  with  partners 
whom  they  may  not  like ;  or,  perhaps,  to  speak  the  truth  openly, 
he  bore  with  him  as  a  rogue  bears  with  his  confederate, 
though  he  absolutely  hates  his  brother  rogue  on  account  of  his 
very  roguery.  Alaric  Tudor  was  now  a  rogue;  despite  his 
high  office,  his  grand  ideas,  his  exalted  ambition ;  despite  his 
talent,  zeal,  and  well-directed  official  labors,  he  was  a  rogue  ; 
a  thief,  a  villain  who  had  stolen  the  money  of  the  orphan,  who 
had  undertaken  a  trust  merely  that  he  might  break  it ;  a  rob- 
ber, doubly  disgraced  by  being  a  robber  with  an  education,  a 
Bill  Sykes  without  any  of  those  excuses  which  a  philanthropist 
cannot  but  make  for  wretches  brought  up  in  infamy. 

Alas,  alas  1  how  is  it  that  in  these  days  such  men  become 
rogues  ?  How  is  it  that  we  see  in  such  frightful  instances  the 
impotency  of  educated  men  to  withstand  the  allurements  of 
wealth  ?  Men  are  not  now  more  keen  after  the  pleasures  which 
wealth  can  buy  than  were  their  forefathers.  One  would  rather 
say  that  they  are  less  so.  The  rich  labor  now,  and  work  with 
an  assiduity  that  often  puts  to  shame  the  sweat  in  which  the 
poor  man  earns  his  bread.  The  rich  rogue,  or  the  rogue  that 
would   be  rich,  is  always  a  laborious  man.     He  allows  himself 

14 


314  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

but  little  recreation,  for  dishonest  labor  admits  of  no  cessation. 
His  wheel  is  one   which   cannot  rest  without  disclosing  the 
nature  of  the  works  which  move  it. 
It  is  not  for  pleasure  that  men 

"Put  rancors  in  the  vessels  of  their  peace;" 

nor  yet  primarily  for  ambition.  Men  do  not  wish  to  rise  by 
treachery,  or  to  become  great  through  dishonesty.  The  object, 
the  ultimate  object,  which  a  man  sets  before  himself,  is  generally 
a  good  one.  But  he  sets  it  up  in  so  enviable  a  point  of  view, 
his  imagination  makes  it  so  richly  desirable,  by  being  gazed  at 
it  becomes  so  necessary  to  existence  that  its  attainment  is  impe- 
rative. The  object  is  good,  but  the  means  of  attaining  it — the 
path  to  the  object — ah !  there  is  the  slip.  Expediency  is  the 
dangerous  wind  by  which  so  many  of  us  have  wrecked  our  little 
boats. 

And  we  do  so  more  now  than  ever,  because  great  ships,  swim- 
ming in  deepest  waters,  have  unluckily  come  safe  to  haven, 
though  wafted  there  by  the  same  pernicious  wind.  Every  great 
man,  who  gains  a  great  end  by  dishonest  means,  does  more  to 
deteriorate  his  country  and  lower  the  standard  of  his  country- 
men, than  legions  of  vulgar  thieves,  or  nameless  unaspiring- 
rogues.  Who  has  injured  us  so  much  in  this  way  as  he  whose 
name  still  stands  highest  among  modern  politicians  ?  Who  has 
given  so  great  a  blow  to  political  honesty,  has  done  so  much 
to  banish  from  men's  minds  the  idea  of  a  life-ruling  principle, 
as  Sir  Robert  Peel  ?       >  v  b  ' 

It  would  shock  many  were  we  to  attribute  to  him  the  roguery 
of  the  Sadliers  and  Camerons,  of  the  Robsons  and  Redpaths  of 
the  present  day ;  but  could  we  analyse  causes  and  effects,  we 
might  perhaps  do  so  with  no  injustice.  He  has  taught  us  a 
great  lesson,  that  a  man  who  has  before  him  a  mighty  object 
may  dispense  with  those  old-fashioned  rules  of  truth  to  his 
neighbors  and  honesty  to  his  own  principles,  which  should  guide 
us  in  ordinary  life.  At  what  point  ordinary  life  ends,  at  what 
crisis  objects  may  be  considered  great  enough  to  justify  the  use 
of  a  dispensing  power,  that  he  has  not  taught  us ;  that  no  Sir 
Kobert  Peel  can  teach  us;  that  must  unfortunately  be  left  to 
tho  judgment  of  the  individual.  How  prone  we  are,  each  of  us, 
to  look  on  our  own  object  as  great,  how^  ready  to  make  excuses 
for  receiving  such  a  lesson  for  our  guide ;  how  willing  to  think 
that  we  may  be  allowed  to  use  this  dispensing  power  ourselv< 
this  experience  teaches  us  in  very  plain  language. 


EASY   IS   THE   SLOPE   OF   HELL,  315 

Thrice  in  his  political  life  did  Sir  Robert  Peel  change  his 
political  creed,  and  carry,  or  assist  to  carry,  with  more  or  less 
of  self-gratulation,  the  measures  of  his  adversaries.  Thrice  by 
doing  so  he  kept  to  himself  that  political  power  which  he  had 
fairly  forfeited  by  previous  opposition  to  the  requirements  of  his 
country.  Such  an  apposition  of  circumstances  is  at  any  rate 
suspicious.  But  let  us  give  him  credit  for  the  expression  of  a 
true  belief;  of  a  belief  at  first  that  the  corn-laws  should  be 
maintained,  and  then  of  a  belief  that  they  should  not ;  let  us, 
with  a  forced  confidence  in  his  personal  honesty,  declare  so  much 
of  hiai ;  nevertheless,  he  should  surely  have  felt,  had  he  been 
politically  as  well  as  personally  honest,  that  he  was  not  the  man 
to  repeal  them. 

But  it  was  necessary,  his  apologist  will  say,  that  the  corn-laws 
should  be  repealed  ;  he  saw  the  necessity,  and  yielded  to  it.  It 
certainly  was  necessary,  very  necessary,  very  unavoidable  ;  abso- 
lutely necessary,  one  may  say  ;  a  fact,  which  the  united  efi"orts 
of  all  the  Peels  of  the  day  could  in  nowise  longer  delay,  having 
already  delayed  it  to  the  utmost  extent  of  their  power.  It  was 
essential  that  the  corn-laws  should  be  repealed;  but  by  no 
means  essential  that  this  should  be  done  by  Sir  Robert 
Peel. 

It  was  a  matter  of  indifi"erence  to  us  Englishmen  who  did  the 
deed.  But  to  Sir  Robert  Peel  it  was  a  matter  of  great  moment 
that  he  should  do  it.  He  did  it,  and  posterity  will  point  at  him 
as  a  politician  without  policy,  a§'a  sfafSsfSan  without  a  principle, 
as  a  worshipper  at  the  altar  of  expediency,  to  whom  neither 
vows  sworn  to  friends,  nor  declarations  made  to  his  country, 
were  in  any  way  binding.  Had  Sir  Robert  Peel  lived,  and  did 
the  people  now  resolutely  desire  that  the  Church  of  England 
should  be  abandoned,  that  Lords  and  Commons  should  bow  the 
neck,  that  the  Crown  should  fall,  who  can  believe  that  Sir 
Robert  Peel  would  not  be  ready  to  carry  out  their  views  ? 
Readers,  it  may  be  that  to  you  such  deeds  as  those  are  horrible 
even  to  be  thought  of  or  expressed ;  to  me  I  own  that  they  are 
so.  So  also  to  Sir  Robert  Peel  was  Catholic  Emancipation  hor- 
rible, so  was  Reform  of  Parliament,  so  was  the  Corn  Law 
Repeal.  They  were  horrible  to  him,  horrible  to  be  thought  of, 
horrible  to  be  expressed.  But  the  people  required  these 
measures,  and  therefore  he  carried  them,  arguing  on  their  behalf 
with  all  the  astuteness  of  a  practised  statesman. 

That  Sir  Robert  Peel  should  be  a  worshipper  of  expediency 
might  be  matter  of  small  moment  to  any  but  his  biographer. 


316  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

were  it  not  tliat  we  are  so  prone  to  copy  tlie  example  of  those 
whose  names  are  ever  in  our  mouths.  It  has  now  become  the 
doctrine  of  a  large  class  of  politicians  that  political  honesty  is 
unnecessary,  slow,  subversive  of  a  man's  interests,  and  incom- 
patible with  quick  onward  movement.  Such  a  doctrine  in  poli- 
tics is  to  be  deplored ;  but  alas !  who  can  confine  it  to  politics  ? 
It  creeps  with  gradual,  but  still  with  sure  and  quick  motion,  into 
all  the  doings  of  our  daily  life.  How  shall  the  man  who  has 
taught  himself  that  he  may  be  false  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
how  shall  he  be  true  in  the  Treasury  chambers  ?  or  if  false  there, 
how  true  on  the  Exchange  ?  and  if  false  there,  how  shall  he 
longer  have  any  truth  within  iiim  ? 

And  thus  Alaric  Tudor  had  become  a  rogue,  and  was  obliged, 
as  it  were  in  his  own  defence,  to  consort  with  a  rogue.  He  went 
down  to  Scotland  with  Undy,  leaving  his  wife  and  child  at 
home,  not  because  he  could  thus  best  amuse  his  few  leisure  days, 
but  because  this  new  work  of  his,  this  laborious  trade  of  roguery, 
allowed  him  no  leisure  days.  When  can  villany  have  either 
days  or  hours  of  leisure  ? 

Among  other  things  to  be  done  in  the  north,  Alaric  was  to 
make  acquaintance  with  the  constituents  of  the  little  borough 
of  Strathbogy,  which  it  was  his  ambition  to  represent  in  the 
next  Parliament.  Strathbogy  was  on  the  confines  of  the 
Gaberlunzie  property  ;  and  indeed  the  lord's  eldest  son,  who  was 
the  present  member,  Hved  almost  within  the  municipal  boundary. 
Ca'stocks  Cottage,  as  his  residence  was  called,  was  but  a  humble 
house  for  a  peer's  eldest  son  ;  but  Mr.  Scott  was  not  ashamed  to 
live  there,  and  there  for  a  while  he  entertained  his  brother  Undy 
and  Alaric  Tudor.  Mr.  Scott  intended,  when  the  present  session 
was  over,  to  retire  from  the  labors  of  parliamentary  life.  It  may 
be  that  he  thought  that  he  had  done  enough  for  his  country  ;  it 
may  be  that  the  men  of  Strathbogy  thought  that  he  had  not 
done  enough  for  them ;  it  may  be  that  there  was  some  family 
understanding  between  him  and  his  brother.  This,  however, 
was  clear,  that  he  did  not  intend  to  stand  again  himself,  and  that 
he  professed  himself  ready  to  put  forward  Alaric  Tudor  as  a 
worthy  successor,  and  to  give  him  the  full  benefit  and  weight  of 
the  Gaberlunzie  interest. 

But  not  for  nothing  was  Alaric  to  receive  such  important 
assistance. 

"  There  are  but  312  electors  altogether,"  said  Undy  one  morn- 
ing as  they  went  out  shooting,  "  and  out  of  these  we  can  com- 
mand a  hundred  and  twenty.     It  must  be  odd  if  you  cannot  get 


* 
EASY   IS   THE   SLOPE    OF   HELL.  317 

enough  outsiders  to  turn  them  into  a  majority.  Indeed  you  may 
look  on  it  as  a  certain  seat.  No  man  in  England  or  Scotland 
could  give  you  one  more  certain." 

This  was  not  the  first  occasion  on  which  Undy  had  spoken  of 
all  that  he  was  doing  for  his  friend,  and  Alaric  therefore,  some- 
what disgusted  with  the  subject,  made  no  reply. 

"  I  never  had  things  made  so  easy  for  me  when  I  went  in," 
continued  Undy ;  "  nor  have  I  ever  found  them  so  easy  since. 
I  don't  suppose  it  will  cost  you  above  500/.,  or  at  most  QOOl. 
altogether." 

*•  Well,  that  will  be  a  comfort,"  said  Alaric. 

"  A  comfort !  why  I  should  say  it  would.  What  with  the  elec- 
tion and  petition  together,  Tillietudlem  never  cost  me  less  than 
2,000/.     It  cost  me  just  as  much,  too,  when  I  was  thrown  out." 

"  That  was  a  bore  for  you,"  said  Alaric. 

"Upon  my  word  you  take  it  rather  coolly,"  said  Undy; 
"  another  man  w^ould  thank  a  fellow  for  putting  such  a  nice  thing 
in  his  way." 

"If  the  obligation  be  so  deep,"  said  Alaric,  becoming  very 
red  in  the  face,  "  I  w^ould  rather  not  accept  it.  It  is  not  too  late 
for  you  to  take  the  cheaper  seat  to  yourself,  if  you  prefer  it ; 
and  I  will  look  elsewhere." 

"  Oh,  of  course ;  perhaps  at  Tillietudlem  ;  but  for  Heaven's 
sake,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  let  us  quarrel  about  it.  You  are 
perfectly  welcome  to  whatever  assistance  we  can  give  you  at 
Strathbogy.  I  only  meant  to  say  that  I  hope  it  will  be  effica- 
cious. And  on  the  score  of  expense  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do 
— that  is,  if  you  think  that  fair  ;  we'll  put  the  cost  of  the  two 
elections  together,  and  share  and  share  alike." 

"  Considering  that  the  election  will  not  take  place  for  at  least 
more  than  twelve  months,  there  will  be  time  enough  to  settle 
that,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Well,  that's  true,  too,"  said  Undy ;  and  then  they  went  on, 
and  for  some  time  separated  on  the  mountain,  complaining, 
when  they  met  again,  of  the  game  being  scarce  and  the  dogs 
wild,  as  men  always  do.  But  as  they  walked  home,  Undy,  who 
regretted  the  loss  of  good  time,  again  began  about  money  mat- 
ters. 

"  How  many  of  those  bridge  shares  will  you  take  ?"  said  he. 
This  was  a  projected  bridge  from  Poplar  to  Rotherhithe,  which 
had  been  got  up  by  some  city  gentlemen,  and  as  to  which  Undy 
Scott  w^as,  or  pretended  to  be,  very  sanguine. 

"None,"  said  Alaric.     "Unless  I  can  get  rid  of  those  con- 


318  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

founded  West  Cork  and  Ballydehobs,  I  can  buy  nothing  more 
of  anything." 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  fellow,  the  Ballydehobs  are  no  such 
confounded  thing  at  all.  If  you  are  ever  a  rich  man  it  will  be 
through  the  Ballydehobs.  But  what  you  say  about  the  bridge 
shares  is  nonsense.  You  have  a  large  command  of  capital,  and 
you  cannot  apply  it  better." 

Alaric  winced,  and  wished  in  his  heart  that  Clementina 
Jaquetanape,  nee  Golightly,  with  all  her  money,  was  buried  deep 
in  the  bogs  of  Ballydehob.  Though  he  was  a  rogue,  he  could 
not  yet  bear  his  roguery  with  comfort  to  himself.  It  sat,  how- 
ever, as  easy  on  TJndy  as  though  he  had  been  to  the  manner  born. 

"  I  have  no  capital  now  at  my  disposal,"  said  he ;  "  and  I 
doubt  whether  I  should  be  doing  right  to  lay  out  a  ward's  money 
in  such  a  manner." 

A  slight  smile  came  over  Undy's  gay  unconcerned  features; 
it  was  very  slight,  but  nevertheless  it  was  very  eloquent  and 
very  offensive  also.  Alaric  understood  it  well ;  it  made  him 
hate  the  owner  of  it,  but  it  made  him  hate  himself  still  more. 

"It  is  as  well  to  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  for  a  lamb,"  said 
Undy's  smile;  "and,  moreover,"  continued  the  smile,  "is  it  not 
ridiculous  enough  for  you,  Alaric  Tudor,  rogue  as  you  are,  to 
profess  to  me,  TJndy  Scott,  rogue  as  I  am,  any  solicitude  as  to 
your  ward's  welfare,  seeing  that  you  have  already  taken  to  your- 
self, for  your  own  dishonest  purposes,  a  considerable  slice  of  the 
fortune  that  has  been  trusted  to  your  keeping  ?  You  have  done 
this,  and  yet  you  talk  to  me  of  not  having  capital  at  your  dis- 
posal !  You  have  capital,  and  you  will  dispose  of  that  capital 
for  your  own  purposes,  as  long  as  a  shilling  remains  uninvested 
of  your  ward's  money.  We  are  both  rogues.  God  knows  it, 
and  you  and  I  know  it ;  but  I  am  not  such  a  hypocritical  rogue 
as  to  make  mock  boasts  of  my  honesty  to  my  brother  rogue." 

This  was  certainly  a  long  speech  to  have  been  made  by  a  smile 
which  crossed  Mr.  Scott's  face  but  for  a  moment,  but  every  word 
of  it  was  there  expressed,  and  every  word  of  it  was  there  read. 
Alaric  did  not  at  all  like  being  addressed  so  uncivilly.  It 
seemed  to  tend  but  little  to  that  "  Excelsior"  for  which  his  soul 
panted ;  but  what  could  he  do  ?  how  could  he  help  himself  ? 
Was  it  not  all  true?  could  he  contradict  the  smile?  Alas!  it 
was  true  ;  it  was  useless  for  him  now  to  attempt  even  to  combat 
such  smiles.  Excelsior,  indeed  !  his  future  course  might  now 
probably  be  called  by  some  very  different  designation.  Easy, 
very  easy,  is  the  slope  of  hell. 


EAST   IS   THE   SLOPE   OF   HELL.  319 

Before  they  had  returned  to  Ca'stocks  Cottage,  XJndy  had 
succeeded  in  persuading  his  friend  that  the  game  must  be  played 
on — on  and  on,  and  out.  If  a  man  intends  to  make  a  fortune 
in  the  share-market,  he  will  never  do  it  by  being  bold  one  day 
and  timid  the  next.  No  turf  betting-book  can  be  made  up 
safely  except  on  consistent  principles.  Half-measures  are  always 
ruinous.  In  matters  of  speculation,  one  attempt  is  made  safe 
by  another.  No  man,  it  is  true,  can  calculate  accurately  what 
may  be  the  upshot  of  a  single  venture ;  but  a  sharp  fellow  may 
calculate  with  a  fair  averao'e  of  exactness  what  will  be  the  ae'^re- 
gate  upshot  of  many  ventures.  All  mercantile  fortunes  have 
been  made  by  the  knowledge  and  understanding  of  this  rule. 
If  a  man  speculates  but  once  and  again,  now  and  then,  as  it 
were,  he  must  of  course  be  a  loser.  He  will  be  playing  a  game 
which  he  does  not  understand,  and  playing  it  against  men  who 
do  understand  it.  Men  who  so  play,  always  lose.  But  he  who 
speculates  daily,  puts  himself  exactly  in  the  reversed  position. 
He  plays  a  game  which  experience  teaches  him  to  play  well, 
and  he  plays  generally  against  men  who  have  no  such  advan- 
tage.    Of  course  he  wins. 

All  these  valuable  lessons  did  Undy  Scott  teach  to  Alaric 
Tudor,  and  the  result  was  that  Alaric  agreed  to  order — for  self 
and  partner — a  considerable  number  of  shares  in  the  Limehouse 
Bridge  Company.     EaBy^  very  easy,  is  the  slope  of  hell.  . 

And  then  in  the  evening,  on  this  evening  and  other  evenings, 
on  all  evenings,  they  talked  over  the  prospects  of  the  West 
Cork  and  Ballydehob  branch,  and  of  the  Limehouse  Bridge, 
which  according  to  TJndy's  theory  is  destined  to  work  quite  a 
revolution  in  the  East-end  circles  of  the  metropolis.  TJndy  had 
noble  ideas  about  this  bridge.  The  shares  at  the  present 
moment  were  greatly  at  a  discount — so  much  the  better,  for 
they  could  be  bought  at  a  cheaper  rate ;  and  they  were  sure  to 
rise  to  some  very  respectable  figure  as  soon  as  Undy  should  have 
played  out  with  reference  to  them  the  parliamentary  game 
which  he  had  in  view. 

And  so  from  morning  to  morning,  and  from  night  to  night, 
they  talked  over  their  unholy  trade  till  the  price  of  shares  and 
the  sounds  of  sums  of  money  entered  into  Alaric's  soul.  And  _ 
this,  perhaps,  is  one  of  the  greatest  penalties  to  which  men  who  ' 
embark  in  such  trade  are  doomed,  that  they  can  never  shake 
off  the  remembrance  of  their  calculations  ;  they  can  never  drop 
the  shop ;  they  have  no  leisure,  no  ease  ;  they  can  never  throw 
themselves  with  loose  linibs  and  vacant  mind  at  large  upon  the 


320  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

world's  green  sward,  and  call  children  to  come  and  play  with 
them.  At  the  Weights  and  Measures,  Alaric's  hours  of  business 
had  been  from  ten  to  five.  In  Undy's  office,  they  continued 
from  one  noon  till  the  next,  incessantly ;  even  in  his  dreams  he 
was  working  in  the  share  market. 

On  his  return  to  town,  Alaric  found  a  fetter  from  Captain 
Cuttwater,  pressing  very  urgently  for  the  repayment  of  his 
money.  It  had  been  lent  on  the  express  understanding  that  it 
was  to  be  repaid  when  Parliament  broke  up.  It  was  now  the 
end  of  October,  and  Uncle  Bat  was  becoming  uneasy. 

Alaric,  when  he  received  the  letter,  crushed  it  into  his  hand, 
and  cursed  the  strictness  of  the  man  who  had  done  so  much  for 
him.  On  the  next  day,  another  slice  was  taken  from  the  fortune 
of  Madame  Jaquetanape ;  and  his  money,  with  the  interest,  was 
remitted  to  Captain  Cuttwater. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MRS.    woodward's    request. 


We  will  now  go  back  for  a  while  to  Hampton.  The  author, 
for  one,  does  so  with  pleasure.  Though  those  who  dwell  there 
be  not  angels,  yet  it  is  better  to  live  with  the  Woodwards  and 
Harry  Norman,  with  Uncle  Bat,  or  even  with  the  unfortunate 
Charley,  than  with  such  as  Alaric  and  Undy  Scott.  The  man 
who  is  ever  looking  after  money,  is  fitting  company  only  for  the 
devils,  of  whom,  indeed,  he  is  already  one. 

But  Charley  cannot  any  longer  be  called  one  of  the  Cottage 
circle.  It  was  now  the  end  of  October,  and  since  the  day  of  his 
arrest,  he  had  not  yet  been  there.  He  had  not  been  asked ; 
nor  would  he  go  uninvited,  as  after  what  had  passed  at  Hamp- 
ton Court  Bridge  he  surely  might  have  done. 

And  consequently  they  were  all  unhappy.  No  one  was  more 
so  than  Charley.  When  the  prospect  of  the  happy  evening  with 
Norah  had  been  so  violently  interrupted  by  his  arrest,  he  had, 
among  his  other  messages,  sent  word  to  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle," 
excusing  his  absence  by  a  statement  of  the  true  cause.  From  that 
day  to  this  of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  he  had  seen  neither 
Mrs.  Davis  nor  her  fair  'protege. 

Nor  were  they  better  contented  at  the  Cottage.  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward was  harassed  by  different  feehngs  and  difi'erent  fears,  which 
together  made  her  very  unhappy.  Her  Katie  was  still  ill ;  not 
ill  indeed  so  that  she  was  forced  to  keep  her  bed  and  receive 


MKS.    woodward's   REQUEST.  321 

daily  visits  from  pernicious  doctors,  but,  nevertheless,  so  ill  as  to 
make  a  mother  very  anxious. 

She  had  never  been  quite  strong,  quite  herself,  from  the  night 
of  Mrs.  Val's  dance.  The  doctor  who  had  attended  her  declared 
that  her  ducking  in  the  river  had  given  her  cold  :  and  that  this, 
not  having  been  duly  checked,  still  hung  about  her.  Then  she 
had  been  taken  to  a  physician  in  London,  who  poked  her  on 
the  back  and  tapped  her  on  the  breast,  listened  to  her  lungs 
through  a  wooden  pipe — such  was  the  account  which  Katie  gave, 
herself,  when  she  returned  home — and  prescribed  rum  and  milk, 
and  cod-liver  oil,  declaring,  with  an  authoritative  nod,  that  there 
was  no  organic  disease — as  yet. 

"  And  what  shall  we  do  with  her,  doctor  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Woodward. 

"  Go  on  with  the  rum  and  milk,  and  cod-liver  oil — you  can't 
do  better." 

"  And  the  cough,  doctor  ?" 

"Why,  if  that  doesn't  go  before  the  cold  weather  begins,  yon 
may  as  well  take  her  to  Torquay  for  the  winter." 

Oh !  consumption,  thou  scourge  of  England's  beauty !  how 
mothers,  gasping  with  ill-suppressed  fears,  have  listened  to  such 
w^ords  as  these — have  listened  and  then  hoped  ;  listened  again, 
and  hoped  again  with  fainter  hopes ;  have  listened  again,  and 
then  hoped  no  more  ! 

But  there  was  much  on  Mrs.  Woodward's  mind  which  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  tell  to  any  doctor,  but  which  still  left 
in  her  breast  an  impression  that  she  was  perhaps  keeping  back 
the  true  cause  of  Katie's  illness.  Charley  had  not  been  at 
Hampton  since  his  arrest,  and  it  was  manifest  to  all  that  Katie 
was  therefore  wretched. 

"  But  why  do  you  not  ask  him,  mamma  ?"  she  had  urged, 
when  her  mother  suggested  that  he  stayed  away  because  he  did 
not  like  to  show  himself  after  what  had  occurred.  "What  will 
bethink  of  us?  he  that  saved  my  life,  mamma!  Oh,  mamma! 
you  promised  to  forgive  him.  Do  ask  him.  You  know  he  will 
come  if  you  ask  him." 

Mrs.  Woodward  could  not  explain  to  her — could  not  explain 
to  any  one — why  she  did  not  invite  him.  Norman  guessed  it 
all,  and  Mrs.  Woodward  saw  that  he  had  done  so ;  but  still  she 
could  not  talk  to  him  of  Katie's  feelings,  could  not  tell  him  that 
she  feared  her  child  was  heart-laden  with  so  sad  a  love.  So  Mrs. 
Woodward  had  no  confidant  in  her  sorrow,  no  counsel  which 
she  could  seek  to  aid  her  own  wavering  judgment.     It  was  pru- 

14^ 


322  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

dent,  she  thouglit,  that  Katie  and  Charley  should  be  kept  apart. 
Prudent !  was  it  not  even  imperative  on  her  to  save  her  child 
from  such  a  fate  ?  But  then,  when  she  saw  the  rosy  cheek  grow 
pale  by  degrees,  as  she  watched  the  plump  little  arms  grow  gradu- 
ally thin  and  wan,  as  those  high  spirits  fell,  and  that  voice  which 
had  ever  been  so  frequent  in  the  house  and  so  clear,  when  the 
sound  of  it  became  low  and  rare,  then  her  heart  would  misgive 
her,  and  she  would  all  but  resolve  to  take  the  only  step  which 
she  knew  would  bring  a  bright  gleam  on  her  child's  face,  and 
give  a  happy  tone  to  her  darling's  voice. 

During  the  earlier  portion  of  these  days,  Katie  had  with  eager 
constancy  reiterated  her  request  that  Charley  should  be  asked 
to  Hampton  ;  but  of  a  sudden  her  prayers  ceased.  She  spoke 
no  more  of  Charley,  asked  no  longer  after  his  coming,  ceased 
even  to  inquire  frequently  of  his  welfare.  But  yet,  when  his 
name  was  mentioned,  she  would  open  wide  her  bright  eyes,  would 
listen  with  all  her  ears,  and  show  only  too  plainly  to  one  who 
watched  her  as  a  mother  only  can  watch,  what  w^ere  the  thoughts 
which  filled  her  heart. 

"  Linda,"  she  had  said  one  night,  as  they  sat  in  their  room, 
preparing  themselves  for  bed,  "  Linda,  why  does  not  mamma 
invite  Charley  to  come  down  to  Hampton  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know,"  said  Linda ;  who,  however,  if  she  did 
not  know,  was  not  far  wrong  in  the  guess  she  made.  "I 
suppose  she  thinks  he'd  be  ashamed  to  show  himself  after 
having  been  in  prison." 

Ashamed !  Why  should  he  be  ashamed  after  so  long  ? 
Didn't  you  hear  Harry  say  that  the  same  thing  often  happens 
to  young  men  ?  Is  he  never  to  come  here  again  ?  Dear 
Linda,  I  know  you  know  ;  do  tell  me." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know,  if  that's  not  the  reason." 

"  Oh  !  Linda,  dear  Linda,  yes  you  do,"  said  Katie,  throwing 
herself  on  her  knees,  resting  her  arms  on  her  sister's  lap,  and 
looking  up  wistfully  into  her  sister's  face.  Her  long  hair  was 
streaming  down  her  back ;  her  white,  naked  feet  peeped  out 
from  beneath  her  bedroom  dress,  and  large  tears  glistened  in 
her  eyes.  Who  could  have  resisted  the  prayers  of  such  a 
suppliant  ?     Certainly  not  Linda,  the  soft-hearted  Linda. 

"  Do  tell  me,"  continued  Katie,  "  do  tell  me — I  am  sure  you 
know ;  and,  Linda,  if  it  is  wrong  to  ask  mamma  about  it,  I'll 
never,  never  ask  her  again.  I  know  mamma  is  unhappy  about 
it.  If  my  asking  is  wrong,  I'll  not  make  her  unhappy  any 
more  in  that  way." 


MRS.   WOODWARD'S   REQUEST.  323 

Linda,  for  a  while,  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  Her 
hesitating  manner  immediately  revealed  to  Katie  that  there 
was  a  secret,  and  that  her  sister  could  tell  it  if  she  would. 

"  Oh  !  Linda,  do  tell  me,  do  tell  me,  dear  Linda ;  you  ought 
to  tell  me  for  mamma's  sake." 

At  last,  with  much  hesitation,  Linda  told  her  the  whole 
tale. 

"  Perhaps  mamma  thinks  that  you  are  too  fond  of  Charley." 

An  instant  light  flushed  across  Katie's  heart — across  her 
heart,  and  brain,  and  senses.  Not  another  word  was  necessary 
to  explain  to  her  the  whole  mystery,  to  tell  the  whole  tale,  to 
reveal  to  her  the  secret  of  her  own  love,  of  her  mother's  fears, 
and  of  his  assumed  unwillingness.  She  got  up  slowly  from  her 
knees,  kissed  her  sister's  cheek  and  neck,  smiled  at  her  so 
sweetly,  so  sadly,  and  then  sitting  on  her  old  seat,  began  play- 
ing with  her  long  hair,  and  gazing  at  vacancy. 

"  It  is  only  what  I  guess,  you  know,  Katie — you  would  make 
me  tell  you,  but  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  in  it." 

"  Dear  Linda,"  said  she,  "  you  are  so  good ;  I  am  so  much 
obliged  to  you." 

After  that  Katie  spoke  no  further  of  Charley.  But  it  was 
evident  to  them  all,  that  though  she  said  nothing,  she  had  not 
ceased  to  think  of  him.  Nor  did  her  cheek  again  become 
rosy,  nor  her  arms  round,  nor  her  voice  happy.  She  got 
weaker  than  ever,  and  poor  Mrs.  Woodward  was  overcome 
with  sorrow. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  cause  of  grief  at  Surbiton  Cottage. 
During  the  last  few  weeks  a  bitter  estrangement  had  taken 
place  between  the  Woodwards  and  the  Tudors,  Alaric  Tudor, 
that  is,  and  Gertrude.  Two  years  had  now  passed  since 
Norman  had  chosen  to  quarrel  with  Alaric,  and  during  all  that 
period  the  two  had  never  spoken  amicably  together,  though 
they  had  met  on  business  very  frequently ;  on  all  such  occa- 
sions Alaric  had  been  imperturbed  and  indifferent,  whereas 
Norman  had  been  gloomy,  and  had  carried  a  hostile  brow  and 
angry  eye.  At  their  period  of  life,  two  years  generally  do 
much  to  quiet  feelings  of  ilWill  and  pacify  animosity;  but 
Norman's  feelings  had  by  no  means  been  quieted,  nor  his 
animosity  pacified.  He  had  loved  Alaric  with  a  close  and 
manly  love ;  now  he  hated  him  with  a  close  and,  I  fear  I  may 
say,  a  manly  hatred.  Alaric  had,  as  he  thought,  answered  his 
love  by  treachery ;  and  there  was  that  in  Norman's  heart  which 
would  not  allow  him  to  forgive  one  who  had  been  a  traitor  to 


324  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

him.  He  had  that  kind  of  selfishness  so  common  to  us,  but  of 
which  we  are  so  unconscious,  which  will  not  allow  us  to  pardon 
a  sin  against  our  own  amour  loropre.  Alaric  might  have  been 
forgiven,  though  he  had  taken  his  friend's  money,  distanced 
him  in  his  office,  though  he  had  committed  against  him  all 
offences  which  one  friend  can  commit  against  another,  all  but 
this.  Norman  had  been  proud  of  his  love,  and  yet  ashamed  of 
it — proud  of  loving  such  a  girl  as  Gertrude,  and  ashamed  of 
being  known  to  be  in  love  at  all.  He  had  confided  his  love  to 
Alaric,  and  Alaric  had  robbed  him  of  his  love,  and  wounded 
both  his  pride  and  his  shame. 

I^orman  lacked  the  charity  which  should  have  been  capable 
of  forgiving  even  this.  He  now  looked  at  all  Alaric's  doings 
through  a  different  glass  from  that  which  he  had  used  when 
Alaric  had  been  dear  to  him.  He  saw,  or  thought  that  he  saw, 
that  his  successful  rival  was  false,  ambitious,  treacherous,  and 
dishonest ;  he  made  no  excuses  for  him,  gave  him  no  credit  for 
his  industry,  accorded  no  admiration  to  his  talent.  He  never 
spoke  ill  of  Alaric  Tudor  to  others ;  but  he  fed  his  own  heart 
with  speaking  and  thinking  ill  of  him  to  himself. 

Of  Gertrude  he  thought  very  differently.  He  had  taught 
himself  to  disconnect  her  from  the  treachery  of  her  husband 
— or  rather  her  memory;  for,  from  the  day  on  which  he 
had  learnt  that  she  was  engaged  to  Alaric,  he  had  never 
seen  her.  He  still  loved  the  remembrance  of  her.  In  his 
solitary  walks  with  Mrs.  Woodward  he  would  still  speak  of  her 
as  he  might  of  one  in  some  distant  clime,  for  w^hose  welfare  he 
was  deeply  interested.  He  had  seen  and  caressed  her  baby  at 
Hampton.  She  was  still  dear  to  him.  Had  Alaric  been  called 
to  his  long  account,  it  would  have  been  his  dearest  wish  to 
have  become  at  some  future  time  the  husband  of  his  widow. 

To  all  these  feelings  on  Norman's  part  Alaric  was  very 
indifferent;  but  their  existence  operated  as  a  drawback  on 
his  wife's  comfort,  and,  to  a  certain  degree,  on  his  own.  Mrs. 
Woodward  would  not  banish  Norman  from  the  Cottage,  even 
for  her  daughter's  sake,  and  it  came  by  degrees  to  be  understood 
that  the  Tudors,  man  and  wife,  should  not  go  there  unless  they 
were  aware  that  Norman  was  absent.  Norman,  on  the  other 
hand,  did  absent  himself  when  it  was  understood  that  Alaric 
and  Gertrude  were  coming ;  and  thus  the  Woodwards  kept  up 
their  intercourse  with  both. 

But  this  was  a  bore.  Alaric  thought  it  most  probable  that 
Norman  would  marry  one  of  the  younger  sisters,  and  he  knew 


MRS.    woodward's    REQUEST.  325 

that  family  quarrels  are  uncomfortable  and  injudicious.  When 
therefore  he  became  a  Civil  Service  Commissioner,  and  was 
thus  removed  from  business  intercouree  with  Norman,  he  con- 
ceived that  it  would  be  wise  to  arrange  a  reconciliation.  He 
discussed  the  matter  with  Gertrude,  and  she,  fully  agreeing 
with  him,  undertook  the  task  of  making  the  proposal  through 
her  mother.  This  she  did  with  all  the  kindness  and  delicacy 
of  a  woman.  She  desired  her  mother  to  tell  Harry  how  much 
she  had  valued  his  friendship,  how  greatly  she  regretted  the 
loss  of  it,  how  anxious  her  husband  was  to  renew,  if  possible, 
their  former  terms  of  affection.  Mrs.  Woodward,  by  no  means 
sanguine,  undertook  the  commission.  She  undertook  it,  and 
utterly  failed  ;  and  when  Gertrude,  in  her  disappointment,  spoke 
bitterly  of  Norman's  bitterness,  both  mother  and  sister,  both 
Mrs.  Woodward  and  Linda,  took  Norman's  part. 

"  I  wish  it  could  be  otherwise,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  I 
wish  it  for  all  our  sakes ;  but  he  is  a  man  not  easily  to  be 
turned,  and  I  cannot  blame  him.  He  has  suffered  very 
much." 

Gertrude  became  ver}^  red.  Her  mother's  w^ords  contained 
a  reproach  against  herself,  tacit  and  unintended  indeed,  but  not 
the  less  keenly  felt. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  Mr.  Norman  has  any  cause  of  just 
complaint,"  she  said,  "  against  any  one,  unless  it  be  himself. 
For  the  sake  of  charity  and  old  associations  we  have  wished 
that  all  ideas  of  injury  should  be  forgiven  and  forgotten.  If  he 
chooses  still  to  indulge  his  rancor,  he  must  do  so.  I  had 
taken  him  to  be  a  better  Christian." 

More  w^ords  had  sprung  from  these.  Mrs.  Woodward,  who, 
in  truth,  loved  Norman  the  better  for  the  continuance  of  his 
sorrow,  would  not  give  up  his  part ;  and  so  the  mother  and 
child  parted,  and  the  two  sisters  parted,  not  quarrelling  indeed, 
not  absolutely  with  angry  words,  but  in  a  tone  of  mind  towards 
each  other  widely  differing  from  that  of  former  years.  Mrs. 
Woodward  had  lost  none  of  the  love  of  the  parent ;  but 
Gertrude  had  forgotten  somewhat  of  the  reverence  of  the 
child. 

All  this  had  added  much  to  the  grief  created  by  Katie's 
illness. 

•  And  then  of  a  sudden  Katie  became  silent,  as  well  as  sad 
and  ill — silent  and  sad,  but  so  soft,  so  loving  in  her  manner. 
Her  gentle  little  caresses,  the  tender  love  ever  lying  in  her  eye, 
the  constant  pressure   of  her  thin   small    hand,  would   all  but 


326  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

break  her  motlier's  heart.  Katie  would  sit  beside  her  on  the 
sofa  in  the  drawing-room  for  hours ;  a  book,  taken  up  as  an 
excuse,  would  be  in  her  lap,  and  she  would  sit  there  gazing  list- 
lessly into  the  vacant  daylight  till  the  evening  would  come ; 
and  then,  when  the  room  was  shaded  and  sombre,  when  the 
light  of  the  fire  merely  served  to  make  the  objects  indistinct, 
she  would  lean  gently  and  by  degrees  upon  her  mother's  bosom, 
would  coax  'her  mother's  arm  round  her  neck,  and  would  thus 
creep  as  it  were  into  her  mother's  heart  of  hearts.  And  then 
slow  tears  would  trickle  down  her  cheeks,  very  slow,  one  by  one, 
till  they  would  fall  as  tell-tales  on  her  mother's  hand. 

"  Katie,  my  darling  Katie,"  the  mother  would  say. 

"I'm  only  tired,  mamma,"  would  be  her  answer.  "Don't 
move,  mamma ;  pray  don't  move.     I  am  so  comfortable." 

And  then  at  night  she  would  put  herself  to  rest  close  circled 
in  Linda's  arms.  She  would  twist  up  her  little  feet,  and  lie  so 
quite  there,  that  Linda  would  remain  motionless  that  she  might 
not  disturb  her  Katie's  sleep ;  but  soon  warm  tears  would  be 
running  on  her  bosom,  and  she  would  know  that  Katie  was  still 
thinking  of  her  love. 

Linda,  among  all  her  virtues,  had  not  that  of  reticence,  and 
her  mother  had  soon  learnt  from  her  what  had  been  said  that 
night  in  their  bedroom  about  Charley.  But  this  violation  of 
confidence,  if  it  was  a  violation,  was  hardly  necessary  to  make 
Mrs.  Woodward  aware  of  what  was  passing  in  her  daughter's 
bosom.  When  Katie  ceased  to  ask  that  Charley  might  be  sent 
for,  when  she  ceased  to  plead  for  his  pardon  and  to  praise  his 
virtues,  Mrs.  Woodward  knew  well  the  cause  of  her  silence. 
It  was  not  that  others  suspected  her  love,  but  that  she  had 
learned  to  suspect  it  herself.  It  was  not  that  she  was  ashamed 
of  loving  Charley,  but  that  she  felt  at  once  that  such  love  would 
distress  her  mother's  heart. 

As  she  sat  there  that  night  fingering  her  silken  hair,  she  had 
asked  herself  whether  in  truth  this  man  was  master  of  her 
heart ;  she  had  probed  her  young  bosom,  which  now,  by  a  sud- 
den growth,  became  quick  with  a  woman's  impulse,  and  she 
had  owned  to  herself  that  she  did  love  him.  He  was  dearer  to 
her,  she  found,  than  all  in  the  world  beside.  Fondly  as  she 
loved  her  sister,  sweet  to  her  as  were  her  mother's  caresses, 
their  love  was  not  as  precious  to  her  as  his  might  be.  And- 
then  she  remembered  what  he  was,  what  was  the  manner  of  his 
life,  what  his  character ;  how  diff'erent  he  was  from.  Alaric  or 
Harry  Norman;   she  remembered  this,  and  knew  that  her  love 


MRS.    WOODWARD'S    REQUEST.  327 

was  an  unhappy  passion.  Herself  she  would  have  sacrificed  ; 
prisoner  as  he  had  been,  debtor  as  he  was,  drunkard,  penniless, 
and  a  spendthrift,  she  would  not  have  liesitated  to  take  him  for 
her  guide  through  life,  and  have  done  what  a  woman  might  to 
guide  him  in  return.  But  she  would  not  sacrifice  her  mother. 
She  saw  now  why  Charley  was  not  asked,  and  silently  acqui- 
esced in  his  banishment. 

She  was  not  yet  quite  seventeen.  Not  yet  seventeen  !  the 
reader  will  say.  She  was  still  such  a  child,  and  yet  arguing  to 
herself  about  spendthrift  debtors  and  self-sacrifice !  All  this 
bombast  at  sixteen  and  a-half.  No,  my  ungentle  reader,  not  all 
this  bombast  at  sixteen  and  a-half.  The  bombast  is  mine.  It 
is  my  fault  if  I  cannot  put  into  fitting  language  the  thoughts 
which  God  put  into  her  young  heart.  In  her  mind's  soliloquy," 
Charley's  vices  were  probably  all  summed  up  in  the  one  word, 
unsteady.  "  Why  is  he  so  unsteady  ?  Why  does  he  like  these 
wicked  things  ?"  And  then  as  regarded  Mrs.  Woodward,  she 
did  but  make  a  resolve  that  not  even  for  her  love  would  she 
add  to  the  unhappiness  of  that  loving,  tenderest  mother.  There 
was  no  bombast  in  Katie,  either  expressed  or  unexpressed. 

After  much  consideration  on  the  matter,  Mrs.  Woodward  de- 
termined that  she  should  ask  Charley  down  to  the  Cottage.  In 
the  first  place,  she  felt  bitterly  her  apparent  ingratitude  to  him. 
AYhen  last  they  had  been  together,  the  day  after  Katie's  escape 
at  the  bridge,  when  his  tale  had  just  been  read,  she  had  told 
him,  with  the  warmth  of  somewhat  more  than  friendly  affec- 
tion, that  henceforth  they  must  be  more  than  common  friends. 
She  had  promised  him  her  love,  she  had  almost  promised  him 
the  afi"ection  and  care  of  a  mother  ;  and  now  how  was  she  keep- 
ing her  promise  ?  He  had  fallen  into  misfortune,  and  she  had 
immediately  deserted  him.  Over  and  over  again  she  said  to 
herself  that  her  first  duty  was  to  her  own  child ;  but  even  with 
this  reflection,  she  could  hardly  reconcile  herself  to  her  neglect 
of  him. 

And  then,  moreover,  she  felt  that  it  was  impossible  that  all 
their  friendship,  all  their  mutual  regard,  should  die  away  sud- 
denly without  any  explanation.  An  attempt  to  bring  about 
this  would  not  cure  Katie's  love.  If  this  were  done,  would  not 
Katie  always  think  of  Charley's  wrong  ? 

And,  lastly,  it  was  quite  clear  that  Katie  had  put  a  check  on 
her  own  heart.  A  meeting  now  might  be  the  reverse  of  dan- 
gerous. •  It  would  be  well  that  Katie  should  use  herself  to  be 
with  him  now  aa^ain ;  well,  at  anv  rate,  that  she  should  see  him 


328  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

once  before  their  proposed  journey  to  Torquay ;  for,  alas,  the 
journey  to  Torquay  was  now  insisted  on  by  the  London  physi- 
cian— insisted  on,  although  he  opined  with  a  nod,  somewhat 
less  authoritative  than  his  former  nod,  that  the  young  lady  was 
touched  by  no  organic  disease. 

"And  then,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward  to  herself,  " his  heart  is 
good,  and  I  will  speak  openly  to  him."  And  so  Charley  was 
again  invited  to  the  cottage.  After  some  demurring  between 
him  and  Norman,  he  accepted  the  invitation. 

Mrs.  Val's  dance  had  taken  place  in  June,  and  it  was  now 
late  in  October.  Four  months  had  intervened,  and  during  that 
period  Charley  had  seen  none  of  the  AVoodwards.  He  had 
over  and  over  again  tried  to  convince  himself  that  this  was  his 
own  fault,  and  that  he  had  no  right  to  accuse  Mrs.  Woodward 
of  ingratitude.  But  he  was  hardly  successful.  He  did  feel,  in 
spite  of  himself,  that  he  had  been  dropped  because  of  the  dis- 
grace attaching  to  his  arrest ;  that  Mrs.  Woodward  had  put  him 
aside  as  being  too  bad  to  associate  with  her  and  her  daughters; 
and  that  it  was  intended  that  henceforth  they  should  be 
strangers. 

He  still  had  Katie's  purse,  and  he  made  a  sort  of  resolve  that 
as  long  as  he  kept  that  in  his  possession,  as  long  as  he  had  that 
near  his  heart,  he  would  not  go  near  Norah  Geraghty.  This 
resolution  he  had  kept ;  but  though  he  did  not  go  to  the  "  Cat 
and  Whistle,"  he  frequented  other  places  which  were  as  discre- 
ditable, or  more  so.  He  paid  many  very  fruitless  visits  to  Mr. 
M'Ruen  ;  contrived  to  run  up  a  score  with  the  proprietor  of  the 
dancing  saloon  in  Holborn  ;  and  was  as  negligent  as  ever  in  the 
matter  of  the  lock  entries. 

"  It  is  no  use,  now,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  when  some 
aspirations  for  higher  things  came  across  his  heart;  "it  is  too 
late  now  to  go  back.  Those  who  once  cared  for  me  have 
thrown  me  over."  And  then  he  would  again  think  of  Water- 
loo Bridge,  and  the  Monument,  and  of  what  might  be  done  for 
threepence  or  fourpence  in  a  pistol  gallery. 

And  then  at  last  came  the  invitation  to  Hampton.  He  was 
once  more  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Woodward,  and  associate  with  Linda 
— to  see  Katie  once  more.  When  he  had  last  left  the  house 
he  had  almost  been  as  much  at  home  as  anyone  of  the  family; 
and  now  he  was  to  return  to  it  as  a  perfect  stranger.  As 
he  travelled  down  with  Norman  by  the  railway,  he  could  not 
help  feeling  that  the  journey  was  passing  over  too  quickly.  He 
was   like  a  prisoner  going   to  his  doom.     As  he  crossed  the 


MRS.    WOODWARD'S   REQUEST.  329 

bridge,  and  remembered  how  Katie  bad  looked  -wben  she  lay 
struggling  in  the  water,  how  he  had  been  feted  and  caressed 
after  pulling  her  out,  he  made  a  bitter  contrast  between  his 
present  position  and  that  which  he  then  enjoyed.  Were  it  not 
for  very  shame,  he  would  have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  return  to 
London. 

And  then  in  a  moment  they  were  at  the  Cottage  door.  The 
road  had  never  been  so  short.  Norman,  who  had  not  fathomed 
Charley's  feelings,  was  happy  and  light-hearted — more  so  than 
was  usual  with  him,  for  he  was  unaffectedly  glad  to  witness 
Charley's  return  to  Hampton.  He  rang  sharply  at  the  door, 
and  when  it  was  opened,  walked  with  happy  confidence  into 
the  drawing-room.  Charley  was  bound  to  follow  him,  and 
there  he  found  himself  again  in  presence  of  Mrs.  Woodward 
and  her  daughters.  Katie  would  fain  have  absented  herself,  but 
Mrs.  Woodward  knew  that  the  first  meeting  could  take  place 
in  no  more  favorable  manner. 

Mrs.  Woodward  bade  him  welcome  with  a  collected  voice, 
and  assured,  if  not  easy  manner.  She  shook  hands  with  him 
cordially,  and  said  a  few  words  as  to  her  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
again.  Then  he  next  took  Linda's  hand,  and  she  too  made  a 
little  speech,  more  awkwardly  than  her  mother,  saying  some- 
thing mal  apro2)os  about  the  very  long  time  he  had  been 
away;  and  then  she  laughed  with  a  little  titter,  trying  to 
recover  herself.  And  at  last  he  came  to  Katie.  There  was 
no  getting  over  it.  She  also  stretched  out  her  now  thin 
hand,  and  Charley,  as  he  touched  it,  perceived  how  altered  she 
was.  Katie  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  tried  to  speak,  but  she 
could  not  articulate  a  word.  She  looked  into  his  face,  and 
then  at  Mrs.  Woodward,  as  though  imploring  her  mother's 
aid  to  tell  her  how  to  act  or  what  to  say;  and  then  finding 
her  power  of  utterance  impeded  by  rising  sobs,  she  dropped 
back  again  on  her  seat,  and  hid  her  face  upon  the  arm  of 
the  sofa. 

"  Our  Katie  is  not  so  well  as  when  you  last  saw  her — is  she, 
Charley?"  said  Mrs.  Woodward.  "She  is  very  weak  just  now  ; 
but  thank  God  she  has,  we  believe,  no  dangerous  symptoms 
about  her.  You  have  heard,  perhaps,  that  we  are  going  to 
Torquay  for  the  winter  ?" 

And  so  they  went  on  talking.  The  ice  was  broken  and  the 
worst  was  over.  They  did  not  talk,  it  is  true,  as  in  former 
days  ;  there  was  no  confidence  between  them  now,  and  each  of 
them  felt  that  there  was  none ;  but  they  nevertheless  fell  into  a 


330  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

way  of  unembarrassed  conversation,  and  were  all  tolerably  at 
their  ease. 

And  then  they  went  to  dinner,  and  Charley  was  called  on  to 
discuss  Admiralty  matters  with  Uncle  Bat ;  and  then  he  and 
Norman  sat  after  dinner  a  little  longer  than  usual ;  and  then 
they  had  a  short  walk,  during  which  Katie  remained  at  home  ; 
but  short  as  it  was,  it  was  quite  long  enough,  for  it  was  very 
dull;  and  then  there  was  tea;  and  then  more  constrained  con- 
versation, in  which  Katie  took  no  part  whatever ;  and  then 
Mrs.  Woodward  and  the  girls  took  their  candles,  and  Charley 
went  over  to  the  inn  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Oh  !  how- 
different  was  this  from  the  former  evenings  at  Surbiton  Cottage. 

Charley  had  made  no  plan  for  any  special  interview  with 
Katie ;  had,  indeed,  not  specially  thought  about  it  at  all ;  but 
he  could  not  but  feel  an  intense  desire  to  say  one  word  to  her 
in  private,  and  learn  whether  all  her  solicitude  for  him  was  over. 
"  Dear  Charley,  you  will  be  steady;  won't -you?"  Those  had 
been  her  last  words  to  him.  Nothing  could  have  been  sweeter ; 
although  they  brought  before  his  mind  the  remembrance  of  his 
own  unworthy  career,  they  had  been  inexpressibly  sweet,  as  testi- 
fying the  interest  she  felt  in  him.  And  was  that  all  over  now  ? 
Had  it  all  been  talked  away  by  Mrs.  Woodward's  cautious 
wisdom,  because  he  had  lain  for  one  night  in  a  sponging-house  ? 

But  the  next  day  came,  and  as  it  passed,  it  appeared  to  him 
that  no  opportunity  of  speaking  one  word  to  her  was  to  be 
allowed  to  him. 

She  did  not,  however,  shun  him.  She  was  not  up  at  break- 
fast, but  she  sat  next  to  him  at  lunch,  and  answered  him  when 
he  spoke  to  her. 

In  the  evening  they  again  went  out  to  walk,  and  then 
Charley  found  that  Linda  and  Norman  went  one  way,  and  that 
he  was  alone  with  Mrs.  Woodward.  It  was  manifest  to  him 
that  this  arrangement  had  been  made  on  purpose,  and  he  felt 
that  he  was  to  undergo  some  private  conversation,  the  nature 
of  which  he  dreaded.  He  dreaded  it  very  much ;  when  he 
heard  it,  it  made  him  very  wretched ;  but  it  was  not  the  less 
full  of  womanly  affection  and  regard  for  him. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  go  from  us,  Charley,"  began  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward, "  without  telling  you  how  deep  a  sorrow  it  has  been  to 
me  to  be  so  long  without  seeing  you.  I  know  you  have  thought 
me  very  ungrateful." 

"  Ungrateful,  Mrs.  Woodward !  O  no !  I  have  done  nothing 
to  make  gratitude  necessary." 


MRS.    WOODWARD'S   REQUEST.  331 

"  Yes,  Charley,  you  have — you  have  done  much,  too  much. 
You  have  saved  my  child's  life." 

"  0  no,  I  did  not,"  said  he  ;  "  besides,  I  hate  gratitude.  I 
don't  want  any  one  to  be  grateful  to  me.  Gratitude  is  almost 
as  offensive  as  pity.  Of  course  I  pulled  Katie  out  of  the  water 
when  she  fell  in  ;  and  I  would  have  done  as  much  for  your 
favorite  cat."  He  said  this  with  something  of  bitterness  in 
his  tone ;  it  was  not  much,  for  though  he  felt  bitterly  he  did 
not  intend  to  show  it;  but  Mrs.  Woodward's  ear  did  not  fail  to 
catch  it. 

"Don't  be  angry  with  us,  Charley;  don't  make  us  more 
unhappy  than  we  already  are." 

"  Unhappy !"  said  he,  as  though  he  thought  that  all  the 
unhappiness  in  the  world  was  at  the  present  moment  reserved 
for  his  own  shoulders. 

"  Yes,  we  are  not  so  happy  now  as  we  were  when  you  were 
last  with  us.     Poor  Katie  is  very  ill." 

"  But  you  don't  think  there  is  any  danger,  Mrs.  Woodward  ?" 

There  are  many  tones  in  which  sucli  a  question  may  be 
asked — and  is  asked  from  day  to  day, — all  differing  widely 
from  each  other,  and  giving  evidence  of  various  shades  of 
feeling  in  the  speaker.  Charley  involuntarily  put  his  whole 
heart  into  it.  Mrs.  Woodw^ard  could  not  but  love  him  for 
feeling  for  her  child,  though  she  would  have  given  so  much 
that  the  two  might  have  been  indifferent  to  each  other. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "We  hope  not.  But  I  should 
not  be  sent  with  her  to  Torquay  if  she  were  not  very  ill.  She 
is  very  ill,  and  it  is  absolutely  essential  that  nothing  should  be 
allowed  to  excite  her  painfully.  I  tell  you  this,  Charley,  to 
excuse  our  apparent  unkindness  in  not  having  you  here  sooner.'^ 

Charley  walked  by  her  in  silence.  Why  should  his  coming 
excite  her  more  than  Norman's  ?  What  could  there  be  painful 
to  her  in  seeing  him  ?  Did  the  fact  of  his  having  been  arrested 
attach  to  his  visit  any  peculiar  probability  of  excitement  ? 

"  Do  not  suppose  that  we  have  not  thought  of  you,"  continued 
Mrs.  Woodward.  "  We  have  all  done  so  daily.  Nay,  I  have 
done  so  myself  all  but  hourly.  Ah,  Charley,  you  will  never 
know  how  truly  I  love  you." 

Charley's  heart  was  as  soft  as  it  was  inflammable.  He  was 
utterly  unable  to  resist  such  tenderness  as  Mrs.  Woodward 
showed  to  him.  He  had  made  a  little  resolution  to  be  stiff  and 
stern,  to  ask  for  no  favor  and  to  receive  none,  not  to  paUiate  his 
own  conduct,  or  to  allow  Mrs.  Woodward  to  condemn  it.     He 


332  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

had  felt  that  as  the  Woodwards  had  given  him  up,  they  had  no 
longer  any  right  to  criticise  him.  To  them  at  least,  one  and 
all,  to  Mrs.  "Woodward  and  her  daughters,  his  conduct  had  been 
soMS  rejjroche.  They  had  no  cause  to  upbraid  him  on  their  own 
account ;  and  they  had  now  abandoned  the  right  to  do  so  on 
his  own.  With  such  assumed  sternness  he  began  his  walk;  but 
now  it  had  all  melted  before  the  warmth  of  one  tender  word 
from  a  woman's  mouth. 

"  I  know  I  am  not  worth  thinking  about,"  said  he. 

"  Do  not  say  so  ;  pray  do  not  say  so.  Do  not  think  that  we 
say  so  to  ourselves.  T  grieve  for  your  faults,  Charley  :  I  know 
they  are  grievous  and  wicked ;  but  I  know  how  much  there  is 
of  good  in  you.  I  know  how  clever  you  are,  how  excellent  your 
heart  is,  how  sweet  your  disposition.  I  trust,  I  trust  in  God, 
you  may  reform,  and  be  the  pride  of  your  friends.  I  trust  that 
I  yet  may  be  proud  of  knowing  you " 

"  No  one  will  ever  be  proud  of  me,"  said  Charley. 

"  We  shall  all  be  proud  of  you,  if  you  will  resolve  to  turn 
away  from  childish  things  now  that  you  axe  no  longer  a  child 
— your  faults  are  faults  which  as  yet  may  be  so  easily  relin- 
quished.    But,   oh,  Charley "    and  then   Mrs.  Woodward 

paused  and  looked  wistfully  into  his  face.  She  had  now  come 
to  the  point  at  which  she  had  to  make  her  prayer  to  him.  She 
had  resolved  to  tell  him  the  cause  of  her  fears,  and  to  trust  to 
his  honor  to  free  her  from  them.  Now  was  the  moment  for 
her  to  speak  out ;  but  now  that  the  moment  was  come,  the 
words  were  wanting. 

She  looked  wistfully  into  his  face,  but  he  did  not  even  guess 
w^hat  was  her  meaning.  He  knew  the  secret  of  his  own  love ; 
but  he  did  not  know  that  Katie  also  had  her  secret.  He  had 
never  dreamt  that  his  faults,  among  all  their  ill  effects,  had 
paled  her  cheek,  made  wan  her  arm,  silenced  her  voice,  and 
dimmed  her  eye.  When  he  had  heard  Katie  cough,  he  had  in 
nowise  connected  the  hated  sound  with  his  own  arrest.  He 
had  thought  only  of  his  own  love. 

"  Oh  !  Charley — I  know  I  can  trust  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward. "  I  know  you  are  gentle  and  good.  You  will  be  gentle 
and  good  to  us,  will  you  not?  you  will  noT^Tnake  us  all 
wretched?" 

Charley  declared  that  he  would  not  willingly  do  anything  to 
cause  pain  to  any  of  them. 

"  No — I  am  sure  you  will  not.  And  therefore,  Charley,  you 
must  not  see  Katie  any  more." 


MES.  woodward's  request.  333 

At  this  time  they  had  turned  off  the  road  into  a  shady  lane, 
in  which  the  leaves  of  autumn  were  beginning  to  fall.  A  path 
led  over  a  stile  away  from  the  lane  into  the  fields,  and  Mrs. 
Woodward  had  turned  towards  it,  as  though  intending  to  con- 
tinue their  walk  in  that  direction.  But  when  she  had  reached 
the  stile,  she  had  sat  down  upon  the  steps  of  it,  and  Charley 
had  been  listening  to  her,  standing  by,  leaning  on  the  top  rail. 

"  And  therefore,  Charley,  you  must  not  see  Katie  any  more." 
So  much  she  said,  and  then  she  looked  into  his  face  with 
imploring  eyes. 

It  was  impossible  that  he  should  answer  her  at  once.  He 
had  to  realise  so  much  that  had  hitherto  not  been  expressed 
between  them,  before  he  could  fully  understand  what  she  meant ; 
and  then  he  was  called  on  to  give  up  so  much  that  he  now 
learnt  for  the  first  time  was  within  his  reach  !  Before  he 
could  answer  her  he  had  to  assure  himself  that  Katie  loved 
him ;  he  had  to  understand  that  her  love  for  one  so  abandoned 
was  regarded  as  fatal ;  and  he  had  to  reply  to  a  mother's  prayer 
that  he  would  remove  himself  from  the  reach  of  a  passion  which 
to  him  was  worth  all  the  world  beside. 

He  turned  his  face  away  from  her,  but  still  stood  leaning  on 
the  stile,  with  his  arms  folded  on  it.  She  watched  him  for  a 
while  in  silence,  and  at  last  she  saw  big  tears  drop  from  his 
face  on  to  the  dust  of  the  path  on  the  further  side.  There  they 
came  rolling  down,  large  globules  of  sorrow.  Nothing  is  so 
painful  to  a  woman  as  a  man  in  tears,  and  Mrs.  Woodward's 
heart  was  wrung  to  its  very  core.  Why  was  he  not  like 
Alaric  or  Norman,  so  that  she  might  make  him  welcome  to  her 
daughter's  heart? 

She  leant  towards  him  and  put  her  hand  caressingly  on  his 
arm.     "  It  shall  be  so,  shall  it  not,  Charley  ?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  say  so." 

"  I  have  your  word  then  ?  If  I  have  your  word,  that  will  be 
a  perfect  bond.     I  have  your  word,  have  I  not,  Charley  ?" 

"  AVhat ! — never  see  her  in  my  life  ?"  said  he,  turning  almost 
fiercely  on  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  That,  you  know,  is  more  than  you  can  promise,"  said  she, 
very  gently.  "  It  is  not  to  the  letter  of  the  promise  that  I 
would  bind  you,  but  to  its  spirit.  You  understand  well  what  I 
mean ;  you  know  what  I  wish,  and  why  I  wish  it.  Say  that 
you  will  obey  my  wish,  and  I  will  leave  the  mode  of  doing  it  to 
your  own  honor.     Have  I  your  promise  ?" 

He  shook  Her  hand  off  his  arm  almost  roughly,  though  unin- 


334  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

tentionally,  and  turning  sharply  round  leant  with  his  back 
against  the  stile.  The  traces  of  tears  were  still  on  his  cheeks, 
but  he  was  no  longer  crying ;  there  was,  however,  a  look  on  his 
face  of  heart-rending  sorrow  which  Mrs.  Woodward  could  hardly 
endure. 

"  I  do  understand  you,"  said  he,  "  and  since  you  demand  it, 
I  will  promise ;"  and  then  they  walked  home  side  by  side, 
without  interchanging  a  single  word. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Mrs.  Woodward  went  to  her 
room,  and  Charley  found  himself  alone  with  Katie. 

"  I  hope  you  find  yourself  better  this  evening,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  I  am  quite  well,"  she  answered,  with  her  sweetest, 
kindest  voice;  "I  am  quite  well,  only  sometimes  I  am  a  little 
weak." 

He  walked  up  to  the  window  as  though  to  pass  on  to  the 
lawn ;  but  the  season  was  too  far  advanced  for  that,  and  the 
window  was  locked.  He  retraced  his  steps,  therefore,  and 
passing  out  of  the  drawing-room  into  the  hall,  stood  at  the  open 
front  door  till  he  heard  Mrs.  Woodward  come  down.  Then  he 
followed  her  into  the  room. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said  to  her  suddenly  ;  "  I  shall  start  by  the 
early  train  to-morrow,  and  shall  not  see  you."  She  pressed  his 
hand,  but  he  in  nowise  returned  the  pressure.  "  Good-by, 
Linda  ;  good-by,  Katie  ;  good  night.  Captain  Cuttwater."  And 
so  he  went  his  way,  as  Adam  did  when  he  w^as  driven  out  of 
Paradise. 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  the  cook,  while  engaged  in 
her  most  matutinal  duties,  was  disturbed  by  a  ring  at  the  front 
door.  She,  and  she  only  of  the  household,  was  up,  and  as  she 
had  not  completed  her  toilet  with  much  minuteness,  she  was 
rather  embarrassed  when,  on  opening  the  door,  she  saw  Mr. 
Charles  Tudor. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  cook,  for  troubling  you  so  early ;  but  I 
have  left  something  in  the  drawing-room.  I  can  find  it  myself;" 
and  so  saying,  he  hurried  into  the  room,  so  as  to  prevent  the 
■servant  from  following  him. 

Katie  had  a  well-worn,  well-known  little  work-box,  which,  in 
years  now  long  past,  had  been  given  to  her  either  by  Alaric  or 
Harry.  Doubtless  she  had  now  work-boxes  grander  both  in 
appearance  and  size ;  but,  nevertheless,  whether  from  habit  or 
from  choice,  her  custom  was,  in  her  daily  needle-work,  to  use 
this  old  friend.  .  Often  and  often  had  Charley  played  with  it 
many  ^wicked  pranks.     Once,  while  Katie  had  as  yet  no  preten- 


HOW   APOLLO   SAVED   THE   NAVVY.  335 

sion  to  be  grown  up,  he  had  put  a  snail  into  it,  and  had  incurred 
her  severe  displeasure.  He  had  stuffed  it  full  of  acorns,  and 
been  rewarded  by  being  pelted  with  them  round  the  lawn ;  and 
had  filled  it  with  nuts,  for  which  he  had  not  found  it  so  difficult 
to  obtain  pardon.  He  knew  every  hole  and  corner  in  it!  he  was 
intimate  with  all  her  little  feminine  nicknacks — her  silver  thim- 
ble, her  scissors,  her  bit  of  wax,  and  the  yard-measure,  which 
twisted  itself  in  and  out  of  an  ivory  cottage — he  knew  them  ail 
as  well  as  though  they  were  his  own ;  and  he  knew  also  where 
the  work-box  stood. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  then  with  his  quickest 
motion  raised  the  lid  and  put  within  the  box,  just  under  the  bit 
of  work  on  which  she  was  employed,  a  light  small  paper  parcel. 
It  contained  the  purse  which  she  had  worked  for  him,  and  had 
given  to  him  with  such  sweet  affection  at  the  Chiswick  flower- 
show. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HOW   APOLLO    SAVEDJTHE    NAVVY. 

About  the  middle  of  November,  the  Woodwards  went  to 
Torquay,  and  remained  there  till  the  following  May.  Norman 
went  with  them,  to  see  them  properly  settled  in  their  new  lodg- 
ings, and  visited  them  at  Christmas,  and  once  again  during  their 
stay  there.  He  then  went  down  to  fetch  them  home,  and  when 
they  all  returned,  informed  Charley,  with  whom  he  was  still 
living,  that  he  was  engaged  to  Linda.  It  was  arranged,  he  said, 
that  they  were  to  be  married  in  August. 

On  the  whole,  the  journey  to  Torquay  was  considered  to  have 
been  successful.  Katie's  health  had  been  the  only  object  in 
going  there,  and  the  main  consideration  while  they  remained. 
She  returned,  if  not  well,  at  any  rate  not  worse.  She  had  got 
through  the  winter,  and  her  lungs  were  still  pronounced  to  be 
free  from  those  dreadful  signs  of  decay,  the  name  of  which  has 
broken  so  many  mothers'  hearts,  and  sent  dismay  into  the 
breasts  of  so  many  fathers.  During  her  sojourn  at  Torquay, 
she  had  grown  much,  and,  as  is  often  the  case  with  those  who 
grow  quickly,  she  had  become  weak  and  thin.  People  at 
Torquay  are  always  weak  and  thin,  and  Mrs.  Woodward 
had  not,  therefore,  been  greatly  frightened  at  this.  Her  spi- 
rits, though  by  no  means  such  as  they  had  been  in  former 
days,  had  improved ;  she  had  occupied  herself  more  than  she 


336  THE   THREE    CLEEKS. 

had  done  during  the  last  two  months  at  Hampton,  and  had,  at 
least  so  Mrs.  Woodward  fondly  flattered  herself,  ceased  to  be 
always  thinking  of  Charley  Tudor.  It  was  quite  clear  that  she 
had  firmly  made  up  her  mind  to  some  certain  line  of  conduct 
with  reference  to  him  ;  she  never  mentioned  his  name,  nor  was 
it  mentioned  in  her  hearing  by  either  her  mother  or  sister  during 
their  stay  at  Torquay.  When  Norman  came  down,  she  always 
found  some  opportunity  of  inquiring  from  him  as  to  Charley's 
health  and  welfare ;  but  she  did  this  in  a  manner  which  showed 
that  she  had  succeeded  in  placing  her  feelings  w^onderfully  under 
control. 

On  that  Monday  morning,  on  which  Charley  had  returned  to 
town  after  his  early  visit  to  her  work-box,  she  had  not  failed  to 
find  the  purse.  Linda  was  with  her  when  she  did  so,  but  she 
had  contrived  so  to  conceal  her  emotion,  that  nothing  was  seen 
and  nothing  suspected.  She  felt  at  once  that  it  was  intended 
that  all  intercourse  should  be  broken  off  between  them.  She 
knew  instinctively  that  this  was  the  effect  of  some  precaution  on 
her  mother's  part,  and  with  a  sad  bosom  and  a  broken  heart  she 
acquiesced  in  it.  She  said  nothing,  even  to  herself,  of  the  truth 
and  constancy  of  her  love ;  she  made  no  mental  resolution 
against  any  other  passion  ;  she  did  not  even  think  whether  or 
not  she  might  ever  be  tempted  to  love  another ;  but  she  felt  a 
dumb  aching  numbness  about  her  heart ;  and,  looking  round 
about  her,  she  seemed  to  feel  that  all  was  dark  and  dismal. 

And  so  they  sojourned  through  the  winter  at  Torquay.  The 
effort  which  Katie  made  was  undoubtedly  salutary  to  her.  She 
took  again  to  her  work  and  her  lessons — studies  w^e  should 
probably  now  call  them — and  before  she  left  Torquay,  she  had 
again  learned  how  to  smile;  but  not  to  laugh  with  that  gay, 
ringing,  silver  laughter,  ringing,  but  yet  not  loud,  which  to 
Charley's  ear  had  been  as  sweet  as  heavenly  music.  During 
this  time  Uncle  Bat  remained  at  Hampton,  keeping  bachelor's 
house  by  himself. 

And  then  while  they  were  at  Torquay,  Linda  and  Norman 
became  engaged  to  each  other.  Their  loves  were  honest,  true, 
and  happy ;  but  not  of  a  nature  to  give  much  scope  to  a  novelist 
of  a  romantic  turn.  Linda  knew  she  was  not  Norman's  first  love, 
and  requited  Norman,  of  course,  by  telling  him  something,  not 
much,  of  Alaric's  falseness  to  her.  Norman  made  but  one 
ungenerous  stipulation.  It  was  this  :  that  in  marrying  him, 
Linda  must  give  up  all  acquaintance  with  her  brother-in-law. 
He  would  never,  he  said,  be  the  means  of  separating  two  sisters ; 


H0W\AP0LL0   saved  the  ^Jf  AWT.  337 

she  and  Gertrude  might  have  such  intercourse  together  as  their 
circumstances  might  render  possible  ;  but  it  was  quite  out  of  the 
question  that  either  he,  Harry  Norman,  or  his  wife,  should  ever 
again  associate  with  Alaric  Tudor. 

In  such  matters  Linda  had  always  been  guided  by  others ;  so 
she  signed  and  promised,  and  the  engagement  was  duly  ratified 
by  all  the  parties  concerned. 

We  must  now  return  to  Charley.  When  he  got  back  to  town, 
he  felt  that  he  had  lost  his  amulet;  his  charm  had  gone  from 
him,  and  he  had  nothing  now  left  whereby  to  save  himself  from 
ruin  and  destruction.  He  was  utterly  flung  over  by  the  Wood- 
wards ;  that  now  was  to  him  an  undoubted  fact.  When  Mrs. 
Woodward  told  him  that  he  was  never  again  to  see  Katie,  that 
was,  of  course,  tantamount  to  turning  him  out  of  the  Cottage. 
It  might  be  all  very  well  to  talk  to  him  of  affection  and  friend- 
ship ;  but  it  was  manifest  that  no  further  signs  of  either  were  to 
be  shown  to  him.  He  had  proved  himself  to  be  unworthy,  and 
was  no  more  to  be  considered  as  one  of  the  circle  which  made 
the  drawing-room  at  Surbiton  Cottage  its  centre.  He  could  not 
quite  explain  all  this  to  Norman,  as  he  could  not  tell  him  what 
had  passed  between  him  and  Mrs.  Woodward  ;  but  he  said 
enough  to  make  his  friend  know  that  he  intended  to  go  to 
Hampton  no  more. 

•  It  would  be  wrong,  perhaps,  to  describe  Charley  as  being  angry 
with  Mrs.  Woodward.  He  knew  that  she  was  only  doing  her 
duty  by  her  child;  he  knew  that  she  was  actuated  by  the  purest 
and  best  of  motives ;  he  was  not  able  to  say  a  word  against  her 
even  to  himself;  but,  nevertheless,  he  desired  to  be  revenged  on  her 
— not  by  injuring  her,  not  by  injuring  Katie — but  by  injuring*  him- 
self. He  would  make  Mrs.  Woodward  feel  t^hat  she  had  done, 
by  rushing,  himself,  on  his  own  ruin.  He  would  return  to  the 
"Cat  and  Whistle," — he  would  keep  his  promise,  and  marry 
Norah  Geraghty — he  would  go  utterly  to  destruction,  and  then 
Mrs.  Woodward  would  know  and  feel  what  she  had  done  in  ban- 
ishing him  from  her  daughter's  presence  ! 

Having  arrived  at  this  magnanimous  resolution  after  a  fort- 
night's doubt  and  misery,  he  proceeded  to  put  his  purpose  into 
execution.  It  was  now  some  considerable  time  since  he  had 
been  at  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle  ;"  he  had  had  no  further  visit 
from  Mrs.  Davis,  but  he  had  received  one  or  two  notes  both  from 
her  and  Norah,  to  which,  as  long  as  he  had  Katie's  purse,  he 
was  resolute  in  not  replying ;  messages  also  had  reached  him 
from  the  landlady  through  Dick  Scatterall,  in  the  last  of  which 

15 


338  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

lie  was  reminded  that  there  was  a  trifle  due  at  the  bar,  and 
another  trifle  for  money  lent. 

One  night,  having  lashed  himself  np  to  a  fit  state  of  wretched 
desperation,  he  found  himself  at  the  well-known  corner  of  the 
street  leading  out  of  the  Strand.  On  his  journey  thither  he  had 
been  trpng  to  realise  to  himself  what  it  would  be  to  be  the 
husband  of  Norah  Geraghty  ;  what  would  be  the  joy  of  returning 
to  a  small  house  in  some  dingy  suburb,  and  finding  her  to  receive 
him.  Could  he  really  love  her  when  she  would  be  bone  of  his 
bone  and  flesh  of  his  flesh,  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  and  the 
mother  of  his  children  ?  In  such  a  case  would  he  ever  be  able 
to  forget  that  he  had  known  Katie  Woodward  ?  Would  those 
words  of  hers  ever  ring  in  his  ears,  then  as  now — "You  will  be 
steady,  dear  Charley  ;  won't  you  V 

There  are  those  who  boast  that  a  gentleman  must  always  be 
a  gentleman ;  that  a  man,  let  him  marvy  whom  he  will,  raises 
or  degrades  his  wife  to  the  level  of  his  own  condition,  and  that 
King  Cophetua  could  share  his  throne  w^ith  a  b.eggar-woman 
without  sullying  its  splendor  or  diminishing  its  glory.  How  a 
king  may  fare  in  such  a  condition,  the  author,  knowing  little  of 
kings,  will  not  pretend  to  say ;  nor  yet  will  he  off'er  an  opinion 
whether  a  lowly  match  be  fatally  injurious  to  a  marquis,  duke, 
or  earl ;  but  this  he  will  be  bold  to  afiirm,  that  a  man  from  the 
ordinary  ranks  of  the  upper  classes,  who  has  had  the  nurture* 
of  a  gentleman,  prepares  for  himself  a  hell  on  earth  in  taking  a 
wife  from  any  rank  much  below  his  own, — a  hell  on  earth,  and, 
alas !  too  often  another  hell  elsewhere  --also".  He  must  either 
leave  her  or  loathe  her.  She  may  be  endowed  with  all  those 
moral  virtues  which  should  adorn  all  women,  and  which,  thank 
God,  are  common  to  women  in  this  country  ;  but  he  will  have 
to  endure  habits,  manners,  and  ideas,  which  the  close  contiguity 
of  married  life  will  force  upon  his  disgusted  palate,  and  w^hicli 
must  banish  all  love.  Man  by  instinct  desires  in  his  wife  some- 
thing softer,  sweeter,  more  refined  than  himself;  and  though  in 
failing  to  obtain  this,  the  fault  may  be  all  his  own,  he  will  not 
on  that  account  the  more  easily  reconcile  himself  to  the  want. 

Charley  knew  that  he  was  preparing  such  misery  for 
himself.  As  he  went  along,  determined  to  commit  a  moral 
suicide  by  allying  himself  to  the  barmaid,  he  constrained 
himself  to  look  with  his  mind's  eye  "  upon  this  picture  and  on 
that." 

He  had  felt  of  w^hat  nature  was  the  sort  of  love  with  which 
Katie  Woodward  had  inspired  his  heart ;  and  he  felt  also  what 


HOW   APOLLO   SAVED  THE   NAVVY.  339 

was  that  other  sort  of  love  to  which  the  charms  of  Norah      ) 
Geraghty  had  given  birth.  •  V'^-*— 

Norah  was  a  fine  girl,  smart  enough  in  her  outward  apparel7\  ^u,o^JL 
but  apt  occasionally  to  disclose  uncomfortable  secrets,  if  from  j 
any  accident  more  than  her  outward  apparel  might  momentarily 
become  visible.  When  dressed  up  for  a  Sunday  excursion  she 
had  her  attractions,  and  even  on  ordinary  evenings,  a  young 
man  such  as  Charley,  after  imbibing  two  or  three  glasses  of 
spirits  and  water,  and  smoking  two  or  three  cigars,  might  find 
her  to  be  what  some  of  her  friends  would  have  called  "  very 
good  company."  As  to  her  mind,  had  Charley  been  asked 
about  it,  he  would  probably  have  said  that  he  was  ignorant 
Avhether  she  had  any;  but  this  he  did  know,  that  she  was 
sharp  and  quick,  alert  in  counting  change,  and  gifted  with  a 
peculiar  power  of  detecting  bad  coin  by  the  touch.  Such  was 
Norah  Geraghty,  whom  Charley  was  to  marry. 

And  then  that  other  portrait  was  limned  with  equal  accuracy 
before  his  eyes.  Katie,  with  all  her  juvenile  spirit,  was 
delightfully  feminine ;  every  motion  of  hers  was  easy,  and 
every  form  into  which  she  could  twist  her  young  limbs  was 
graceful.  She  had  all  the  nice  ideas  and  ways  which  a  girl 
acquires  when  she  grows  from  childhood  to  woman's  stature, 
imder  the  eye  of  a  mother  who  is  a  lady.  Katie  could  be 
untidy  on  occasions  ;  but  her  very  untidiness  was  inviting.  All 
her  belongings  were  nice ;  she  had  no  hidden  secrets,  the 
chance  revealing  of  which  would  disgrace  her.  She  might 
come  in  from  her  island  palaces  in  a  guise  which  would  call 
down  some  would-be-censorious  exclamation  from  her  mother  ; 
but  all  others  but  her  mother  would  declare  that  Katie  in  such 
moments  was  more  lovely  than  ever.  And  Katie's  beauty 
pleased  more  than  the  eye  —  it  came  home  to  the  mind  and 
heart  of  those  who  saw  her.  It  spoke  at  once  to  the  intelli- 
gence, and  required,  for  its  full  appreciation,  an  exercise  of  the 
mental  faculties,  as  well  as  animal  senses.  If  the  owner  of  that 
outward  form  w^ere  bad  or  vile,  one  would  be  inclined  to  say 
that  Nature  must  have  lied  when  she  endowed  her  with  so  fair 
an  index.  Such  was  Katie  Woodward,  whom  Charley  was  not 
to  marry. 

As  he  turned  down  Norfolk  Street  he  thought  of  all  this,  as 
the  gambler,  sitting  with  his  razor  before  him  with  which  he 
intends  to  cut  his  throat,  may  be  supposed  to  think  of  the 
stakes  which  he  has  failed  to  win,  and  the  fortune  he  has  failed 
to  make.     Norah  Geraghty  was  Charley's  razor,  and  he  plunged 


340  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

boldly  into  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle,"  determined  to  draw  it  at 
once  across  his  weasand,  and  -sever  himself  for  ever  from  all 
that  is  valuable  in  the  world. 

It  was  now  about  eleven  o'clock,  at  which  hour  the  "  Cat  and 
Whistle"  generally  does  its  most  stirring  trade.  This  Charley 
knew  ;  but  he  also  knew  that  the  little  back  parlor,  even  if  there 
should  be  an  inmate  in  it  at  the  time  of  his  going  in,  would 
soon  be  made  private  for  his  purposes. 

When  he  went  in,  Mrs.  Davis  was  standing  behind  the  coun- 
ter, dressed  in  a  cap  of  wonderful  grandeur,  and  a  red  tabinet 
gown,  which  rustled  among  the  pots  and  jars,  sticking  out  from 
her  to  a  tremendous  width,  inflated  by  its  own  magnificence  and 
a  substratum  of  crinoline.  Charley  had  never  before  seen  her 
arrayed  in  such  royal  robes.  Her  accustomed  maid  was  waiting 
as  usual  on  the  guests,  and  another  girl  also  was  assisting ;  but 
Norah  did  not  appear  to  Charley's  first  impatient  glance. 

He  at  once  saw  that  something  wonderful  was  going  on. 
The  front  parlor  was  quite  full,  and  the  ministering  angel  was 
going  in  and  out  quickly,  with  more  generous  supplies  of  the 
gifts  of  Bacchus  than  were  usual  at  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle." 
Gin  and  water  was  the  ordinary  tipple  in  the  front  parlor  ;  and 
any  one  of  its  denizens  inclined  to  cut  a  dash  above  his  neigh- 
bors generally  did  so  with  a  bottom  of  brandy.  But  now  Mrs. 
Davis  was  mixing  port-wine  negus  as  fast  as  her  hands  could 
make  it. 

And  then  there  were  standing  round  the  counter  four  or  five 
customers,  faces  well  known  to  Charley,  all  of  whom  seemed  to 
be  dressed  with  a  splendor  second  only  to  that  of  the  landlady. 
One  man  had  on  an  almost  new  brown  frock  coat  with  a  black 
velvet  collar,  and  white  trousers.  Two  had  blue  swallow-tailed 
coats  with  brass  buttons ;  and  a  fourth,  a  dashing  young  lawyer's 
clerk  from  Clement's  Inn,  was  absolutely  stirring  a  mixture, 
which  he  called  a  mint  julep,  with  a  yellow  kid  glove  dangling- 
out  of  his  hand. 

They  all  stood  back  when  Charley  entered ;  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  make  way  for  him  in  former  days,  and  though  he 
had  latterly  ceased  to  rule  at  the  "  Cat  and  Whistle"  as  he  once 
did,  they  were  too  generous  to  trample  on  fallen  greatness.  He 
gave  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Davis  across  the  counter,  and  asked  her 
in  the  most  unconcerned  voice  which  he  could  assume  what  was 
in  the  wind.  She  tittered  and  laughed,  told  him  he  had  come 
too  late  for  the  fun,  and  then  retreated  into  the  little  back  parlor, 
whither  he  followed  her.    She  was  at  any  rate  in  a  good  humor, 


HOW   APOLLO    SAVED   THE   NAYVY.  341 

and  seemed  quite  inclined  to  forgive  his  rather  uncivil  treatment 
of  her  notes  and  messages. 

In  the  back  parlor  Charley  found  more  people  drinking,  and 
among  them  three  ladies  of  Mrs.  Davis's  acquaintance.  They 
were  all  very  fine  in  their  apparel,  and  very  comfortable  as  to 
their  immediate  employment,  for  each  had  before  her  a  glass  of 
hot  tipple.  One  of  them,  a  florid-faced  dame  about  fifty,  Charley 
had  seen  before,  and  knew  to  be  the  wife  of  a  pork  butcher  and 
sausage  maker  in  the  neighborhood.  Directly  he  entered  the 
room,  Mrs.  Davis  formally  introduced  him  to  them  all.  "  A  very 
particular  friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  AUchops ;  and  of  Norah's  too,  I 
can  assure  you,"  said  Mrs  Davis. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Tudor,  and  how  be  you  ?  A  sight  of  you  is  good 
for  sore  eyes,"  said  she  of  the  sausages,  rising  with  some  diffi- 
culty from  her  chair,  and  grasping  Charley's  hand  with  all  the 
pleasant  cordiality  of  old  friendship. 

"  The  gen'leman  seems  to  be  a  little  too  late  for  the  fair,"  said 
a  severe  lodging-house  keeper  from  Cecil  Street. 

"  Them  as  wills  not,  when  they  may, 
When  they  wills  they  shall  have  nay,"    * 

said  a  sarcastic  rival  barmaid  from  a  neighboring  public,  to 
whom  all  Norah's  wrongs  and  all  Mr.  Tudor's  false  promises 
were  fully  known. 

Charley  was  not  the  fellow  to  allow  himself  to  be  put  down, 
even  by  feminine  raillery ;  so  he  plucked  up  his  spirit,  sad  as  he 
was  at  heart,  and  replied  to  them  all  en  masse. 

"Well,  ladies,  what's  in  the  wind  now?  You  seem  to  be 
very  cosy  here,  all  of  you  ;  suppose  you  allow  me  to  join  you." 

"With  a  'eart  and  a  'alf,"  said  Mrs.  Allchops,  squeezing  her 
corpulence  up  to  the  end  of  the  horsehair  sofa,  so  as  to  make 
room  for  him  between  herself  and  the  poetic  barmaid.  "I'd 
sooner  have  a  gen'leman  next  to  me  nor  a  lady  hany  day  of  the 
week ;  so  come  and  sit  down,  my  birdie." 

But  Charley,  as  he  was  about  to  accept  the  invitation  of  his 
friend  Mrs.  Allchops,  caught  Mrs.  Davis's  eye,  and  followed  her 
out  of  the  room  into  the  passage.  "  Step  up  to  the  landing, 
Mr.  Tudor,"  said  she;  and  Charley  stepped  up.  "Come  in 
here,  Mr.  Tudor — you  won't  mind  my  bedroom  for  once."  And 
Charley  followed  her  in,  not  minding  her  bedroom. 

"  Of  course  you  know  what  has  happened,  Mr.  Tudor  ?"  said 
she. 

"  Devil  a  bit,"  said  Charley. 


342  THE  THEEE  CLEEKS. 

"  Laws,  now — don't  you  indeed  ?     Well,  that  is  odd." 

"  How  the  deuoe  should  I  know  ?     Where's  Norah  2" 

"  Why — she's  at  Gravesend." 

"  At  Gravesend — you  don't  mean  to  say  she's " 

"  I  just  do  then ;  she's  just  gone  and  got  herself  spliced  to 
Peppermint  this  morning.  They  had  the  banns  said  these  last 
three  Sundays ;  and  this  morning  they  was  at  St.  Martin's  at 
eight  o'clock,  and  has  been  here  junketing  ever  since,  and  now 
they're  away  to  Gravesend." 

"  Gravesend  !"  said  Charley,  struck  by  the  suddenness  of  his 
rescue,  as  the  gambler  would  have  been  had  some  stranger 
seized  the  razor  at  the  moment  when  it  was  lifted  to  his  throat. 

"  Yes,  Gravesend,"  said  Mrs.  Davis ;  "  and  they'll  come  up 
home  to  his  own  house  by  the  first  boat  to-morrow." 

"  So  Norah's  married  !"  said  Charley,  with  a  slight  access  of 
sentimental  softness  in  his  voice. 

"  She's  been  and  done  it  now,  Mr.  Tudor,  and  no  mistake ; 
and  it's  better  so,  an't  it  ?  Why,  Lord  love  you,  she'd  never 
have  done  for  you,  you  know ;  and  she's  the  very  article  for 
such  a  man.as  Peppermint." 

There  was  something  good-natured  in  this,  and  so  Charley 
felt  it.  As  long  as  Mrs.  Davis  could  do  anything  to  assist  her 
cousin's  view^s,  by  endeavoring  to  seduce  or  persuade  her 
favorite  lover  into  a  marriage,  she  left  no  stone  unturned, 
working  on  her  cousin's  behalf.  But  now,  now  that  all  those 
hopes  were  over,  now  that  Norah  had  consented  to  sacrifice  love 
to  prudence,  why  should  Mrs.  Davis  quarrel  with  an  old  friend 
any  longer  ? — why  should  not  things  be  made  pleasant  to  him 
as  to  others  ? 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Tudor,  come  down,  and  drink  a  glass  to  their 
healths,  and  wish  'em  both  well,  and  don't  mind  what  them 
women  says  to  you.  You're  well  out  of  a  mess ;  and  now  it's 
all  over,  I'm  glad  it  is  as  it  is." 

Charley  went  down  and  took  his  glass  and  drank  "  prosperity 
to  the  bride  and  bridegroom."  The  sarcastic  rival  barmaid  said 
little  snappish  things  to  him,  off'ered  him  a  bit  of  green  ribbon, 
and  told  him  that  if  he  "minded  hisself,"  somebody  might, 
perhaps,  take  him  yet.     But  Charley  was  proof  against  this. 

He  sat  there  about  half  an  hour,  and  then  went  his  way, 
shaking  hands  with  all  the  ladies  and  bowling  to  the  gentlemen. 
On  the  following  day,  as  soon  as  he  left  his  office,  he  called  at 
the  "  Cat  and  Whistle,"  and  paid  his  little  bill  there,  and  said 
his  last  farewell  to  Mr^  Davis.    He  never  visited  the  house 


now   APOLLO   SAVED  THE   NAVVY.  343 

again.  Now  tliat  Norali  was  gone  the  attractions  were  not 
powerful.  Reader,  yon  and  I  will  at  the  same  time  say  our 
farewells  to  Mrs.  Davis,  to  Mr.  Peppermint  also,  and  to  his 
bride.  If  thou  art  an  elegant  reader,  unaccustomed  to  the 
contamination  of  pipes  and  glasses,  I  owe  thee  an  apology  in 
that  thou  hast  been  caused  to  linger  a  while  among  things  so 
unsavory.  But  if  thou  art  one  who  of  thine  own  will  hast 
taken  thine  ease  in  thine  inn,  hast  enjoyed  the  freedom  of  a 
sanded  parlor,  hast  known  "  that  ginger  is  hot  in  the  mouth," 
and  made  thyself  light-hearted  with  a  yard  of  clay,  then  thou 
wilt  confess  there  are  worse  establishments  than  the  "  Cat  and 
AYhistle,"  less  generous  landladies  than  Mrs.  Davis. 

When  all  this  happened  the  Woodwards  had  not  been  long 
at  Torquay.  Mr.  Peppermint  was  made  a  happy  man  before 
Christmas  ;  and  therefore  Charley  was  left  to  drift  before  the 
wind  without"  the  ballast  of  any  lady's  love  to  keep  him  in 
sailing  trim.  Poor  fellow  !  he  had  had  wealth  on  one  side, 
beauty  and  love  on  another,  and  on  the  third  all  those  useful 
qualities  which  Miss  Geraghty  has  been  described  as  possessing. 
He  had  been  thus  surrounded  by  feminine  attractions,  and  had 
lost  them  all.  Two  of  those,  from  whom  he  had  to  choose,  had 
married  others,  and  he  was  banished  from  the  presence  of  the 
third.  Under  such  circumstances  wdiat  could  he  do  but  drift 
about  the  gulfs  and  straits  of  the  London  ocean  without  com- 
pass or  rudder,  and  bruise  his  timbers  against  all  the  sunken 
rocks  that  might  come  in  his  way  ? 

And  then  Norman  told  him  of  his  coming  marriage,  and 
Charley  was  more  sad  than  ever.  And  thus  matters  went  on 
with  him  till  the  period  at  which  our  story  will  be  resumed  at 
the  return  of  the  Woodwards  to  Hampton. 

In  the  mean  time  another  winter  and  another  spring  had 
passed  over  Alaric's  head,  and  now  the  full  tide  of  the  London 
season  found  him  still  rising,  and  receiving  every  day  more  of 
the  world's  homage.  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  had  had  every 
reason  to  praise  his  own  judgment  in  selecting  Mr.  Tudor  for 
the  vacant  seat  among  the  Magi. 

From  that  moment  all  had  gone  smooth  with  Sir  Gregory; 
there  was  no  one  to  interfere  with  his  hobby,  or  run  counter  to 
his  opinion.  Alaric  was  all  that  was  conciliatory  and  amiable 
in  a  colleague.  He  was  not  submissive  and  cringing;  and 
had  he  been  so,  Sir  Gregory,  to  do  him  justice,  would  have  been 
disgusted  ;  but  neither  was  he  self-opinionated  nor  obstinate 
like  Mr.  Jobbles.     He  insisted  on  introducing  no  crotchets  of 


344  -  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

his  own,  and  allowed  Sir  Gregory  all  the  credit  of  the  Com- 
mission. 

This  all  went  on  delightfully  for  a  while ;  but  on  one  morn- 
ing, early  in  May,  Alaric  somewhat  disturbed  the  equanimity 
of  his  chief  by  communicating  to  him  his  intention  of  becom- 
ing a  candidate  for  the  representation  of  the  borough  of  Strath- 
bogy,  at  the  next  general  election,  which  was  to  take  place  very 
shortly  after  the  close  of  the  session.  Sir  Gregory  was  dumb- 
founded, and  expressed  himself  as  incapable  of  believing  that 
Tudor  really  meant  to  throw  up  1200/.  a-year  on  the  mere 
speculation  of  its  being  possible  that  he  should  get  into  Palia- 
ment.  Men  in  general,  as  Sir  Gregory  endeavored  to  explain 
with  much  eloquence,  go  into  Parliament  for  the  sake  of  get- 
ting places  of  1200/.  a-year.  For  what  earthly  reason  should 
Alaric  again  be  going  to  the  bottom  of  the  ladder,  seeing  that 
he  had  already  attained  a  rung  of  such  very  respectable  altitude? 
Alaric  said  to  himself,  "Excelsior  !"  To  Sir  Gregory  he  sug- 
gested that  it  might  be  possible  that  he  should  get  into  Parlia- 
ment without  giving  up  his  seat  at  the  Board.  Earth  and 
heaven,  it  might  be  hoped,  would  not  come  together,  even 
though  so  great  a  violence  as  this  should  be  done  to  the  time- 
honored  practices  of  the  Government.  Sir  Gregory  suggested 
that  it  was  contrary  to  the  constitution.  Alaric  replied  that 
the  constitution  had  been  put  upon  to  as  great  an  extent  before 
this,  and  had  survived.  Sir  Gregory  regarded  it  as  all  but 
impossible,  and  declared  it  to  be  quite  unusual.  Alaric  rejoined 
that  something  of  the  same  kind  had  been  done  at  the  Poor 
Law  Board.  To  this  Sir  Gregory  replied,  gently  pluming  his 
feathers  with  conscious  greatness,  that  at  the  Poor  LaAv  Board 
the  chief  of  the  commission  was  the  Parliamentary  officer. 
Alaric  declared  that  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  give  way  if  Sir 
Gregory  would  go  into  the  House  himself.  To  this  Sir  Gregory 
demurred ;  not  feeling  himself  called  on  to  change  the  sphere 
of  his  utility.  And  so  the  matter  was  debated  between  them, 
till  at  last  Sir  Gregory  promised  to  consult  his  friend  the  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer.  The  ice  was  thus  broken,  and  Alaric 
was  quite  contented  with  the  part  which  he  had  taken  in  the 
conversation. 

With  his  own  official  prospects,  in  spite  of  the  hazardous  step 
which  he  now  meditated,  he  was  quite  contented.  He  had  an 
idea  that  in  the  public  service  of  the  Government,  as  well  as  in 
all  other  services,  men  who  were  known  to  be  worth  their  wages 
would  find  employment.     He  was  worth  his  wages.     Men  who 


HOW    ArOLLO   SAVED   THE   NAVVY.  345 

could  serve  their  country  well,  who  could  adapt  themselves  to 
work,  who  were  practical,  easy  in  harness,  able  to  drive  and 
patient  to  be  driven,  were  not,  unfortunately,  as  plentiful  as 
blackberries.  He  began  to  perceive  that  a  really  useful  man 
could  not  be  found  miscellaneously  under  every  hat  in  Pall  Mall. 
He  knew  his  own  value,  and  did  not  fear  but  that  he  should 
find  a  price  for  it  in  some  of  the  world's  markets.  He  would 
not,  therefore,  allow  himself  to  be  deterred  from  further  pro- 
gress by  any  fear  that  in  doing  so  he  risked  the  security  of  his 
daily  bread;  no,  not  though  the  risk  extended  to  his  wife;  she 
had  taken  him  for  better  or  worse ;  if  the  better  came  she  should 
share  it ;  if  the  worse,  why  let  her  share  that  also,  with  such 
consolation  as  his  affection  might  be  able  to  offer. 

There  was  something  noble  in  this  courage,  in  this  lack  of 
prudence.  It  may  be  a  question  whether  men,  in  marrying, 
do  not  become  too  prudent.  A  single  man  may  risk  anything, 
says  the  world ;  but  a  man  with  a  wife  should  be  sure  of  his 
means.  Why  so  ?  A  man  and  a  woman  are  but  two  units. 
A  man  and  a  woman  with  ten  children  are  but  twelve  units. 
It  is  sad  to  see  a  man  starving — sad  to  see  a  woman  starving — 
very  sad  to  see  children  starving.  But  how  often  does  it  come 
to  pass  that  the  man  who  will  work  is  seen  begging  his  bread  ? 
we  may  almost  say  never — unless,  indeed,  he  be  a  clergyman. 
Let  the  idle  man  be  sure  of  his  wife's  bread  before  he  marries 
her  ;  but  the  working  man,  one  would  say,  may  generally  trust 
to  God's  goodness  without  fear. 

With  his  official  career  Alaric  was,  as  we  have  said,  well 
contented ;  in  his  stock-jobbing  line  of  business  he  also  had 
had  moments  of  great  exaltation,  and  some  moments  of  con- 
siderable depression.  The  West  Corks  had  vacillated.  Both 
he  and  Undy  had  sold  and  bought  and  sold  again ;  and  on 
the  whole  their  stake  in  that  stupendous  national  line  of 
accommodation  was  not  so  all-absorbing  as  it  had  once  been. 
But  if  money  had  been  withdrawn  from  this,  it  had  been 
invested  elsewhere,  and  the  great  sura  borrowed  from  Madame 
Jaquetanape's  fortune  had  been  in  no  part  replaced — one  full 
moiety  of  it  had  been  taken — may  one  not  say  stolen  ? — to 
enable  Alaric  and  TJndy  to  continue  their  speculations. 

The  undertaking  to  which  they  were  now  both  wedded  was 
the  Limehouse  and  Rotherhithe  Bridge.  Of  this  Undy  was 
chairman,  and  Alaric  was  a  director,  and  at  the  present  moment 
they  looked  for  ample  fortune,  or  what  would  nearly  be  ample 
ruin,  to  the  decision  of  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Commons 

15^ 


V 


346  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

whicli  was  about  to  sit  with  the  view  of  making  inquiry  as  to 
the  necessity  of  the  bridge  in  question. 

Mr.  Nogo,  the  member  for  Mile  End,  was  the  parent  of  this 
committee.  He  asserted  that  the  matter  was  one  of  such  vital 
importance  not  only  to  the  whole  metropolis,  but  to  the  country 
at  large,  that  the  Government  were  bound  in  the  first  place  to 
give  a  large  subsidy  towards  building  the  bridge,  and  afterwards 
to  pay  a  heavy  annual  sum  towards  the  amount  which  it  would 
be  necessary  to  raise  by  tolls.  Mr.  AVhip  Vigil,  on  the  other 
hand,  declared  on  the  part  of  the  Government  that  the  bridge 
was  wholly  unnecessary ;  that  if  it  were  built  it  ought  to  be 
pulled  down  again  ;  and  that  not  a  stiver  could  be  given  out  of 
the  public  purse  with  such  an  object. 

On  this  they  joined  issue.  Mr.  Nogo  prayed  for  a  committee, 
and  Mr.  Vigil,  having  duly  consulted  his  higher  brethren  in  the 
government,  conceded  this  point.  It  may  easily  be  conceived 
how  high  were  now  the  hopes  both  of  Undy  Scott  and  Alaric 
Tudor.  It  was  not  at  all  necessary  for  them  that  the  bridge 
should  ever  be  built ;  that,  probably,  was  out  of  the  question ; 
that,  very  likely,  neither  of  them  regarded  as  a  possibility.  But 
if  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Commons  could  be  got  to  say 
that  it  ought  to  be  built,  they  might  safely  calculate  on  selling 
out  at  a  large  profit. 

But  who  were  to  sit  on  the  Committee  ?  That  was  now  the 
all-momentous  question. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE    PARLIAMENTARY    COMMITTEE. 

There  is  a  sport  prevalent  among  the  downs  in  Hampshire 
to  which,  though  not  of  a  high  degree,"  much  interest  is  attached. 
Men  and  boys,  with  social  glee  and  happy  boyish  shouts,  con- 
gregate together  on  a  hill-side,  at  the  mouth  of  a  narrow  hole, 
and  proceed,  with  the  aid  of  a  well-trained  bull-dog,  to  draw  a 
badger.  If  the  badger  be  at  all  commendable  in  his  class  this 
is  by  no  means  an  easy  thing  to  do.  He  is  a  sturdy  animal, 
and  well  fortified  with  sharp  and  practised  teeth ;  his  hide  is 
of  the  toughest ;  his  paws  of  the  strongest,  and  his  dead  power 
of  resistance  so  great  as  to  give  him  more  than  an  equal  chance 
with  the  bull-dog.  The  delighted  sportsmen  stand  round  listen- 
ing to  the  growls  and  snarls,  the  tearings,  gnawings,  and  bloody 
struggles  of  the  combatants  within. — "  Well  done,  badger  ! — 


THE   PAELIAMENTAEY    COMinTTEE.  347 

Well  done,  bull-dog  ! — Draw  him,  bull-dog  ! — Bite  him,  bad- 
.  ger !"  Each  has  his  friends,  and  the  interest  of  the  moment  is 
intense.  The  badger,  it  is  true,  has  done  no  harm.  He  has 
been  doing  as  it  was  appointed  for  him  to  do,  poor  badger,  in 
that  hole  of  his.  But  then,  why  were  badgers  created  but  to 
be  drawn  ?  Why,  indeed,  but  to  be  drawn,  or  not  to  be  drawn, 
as  the  case  may  be  ?  See  !  the  bull-dog  returns  minus  an  ear, 
with  an  eye  hanging  loose,  his  nether  lip  torn  off,  and  one  paw 
bitten  through  and  through.  Limping,  dejected,  beaten,  glaring 
fearfully  from  his  one  remaining  eye,  the  dog  comes  out ;  and 
the  badger  within  rolls  himself  up  with  affected  ease,  hiding  his 
bloody  wounds  from  the  public  eye. 

So  it  is  that  the  sport  is  played  in  Hampshire  ;  and  so  also 
at  Westminster — with  a  difference,  however.  In  Hampshire 
the  two  brutes  retain  ever  their  appointed  natures.  The  badger 
is  always  a  badger,  and  the  bull-dog  never  other  than  a  bull- 
dog. At  Westminster  there  is  a  juster  reciprocity  of  position. 
The  badger  when  drawn  has  to  take  his  place  outside  the  hole, 
and  fight  again  for  the  home  qf  his  love ;  while  the  victorious 
bull-dog  assumes  a  state  of  badgerdom,  dons  the  skin  of  his 
enemy,  and,  in  his  turn,  submits  to  be  baited. 

The  pursuit  is  certainly  full  of  interest,  but  it  is  somewhat 
deficient  in  dignity. 

The  parliamentary  committee,  which  was  to  sit  with  reference 
to  the  Limehouse  and  Rotherhithe  Bridge,  had  been  one  of  the 
effects  of  a  baiting-match  such  as  that  above  described.  In  this 
contest  the  enemies  of  the  proud  occupier  of  the  den  on  the 
mountain  side  had  not  been  contented  to  attempt  to  expel  him 
with  a  single  bull-dog.  A  whole  pack  had  been  let  loose  at  his 
devoted  throat.  Bull-dogs  had  been  at  him,  and  terriers, 
mastiffs,  blood-hounds,  lurchers,  and  curs ;  but  so  accustomed 
w^as  he  to  the  contest,  so  knowing  in  his  fence,  so  ready  with 
all  the  weapons  given  to  him  by  nature,  that,  in  spite  of  the 
numbers  and  venom  of  his  enemies,  he  had  contrived  to  hold 
his  own.  Some  leading  hounds  had  fallen  to  rise  no  more ; 
others  had  retreated,  yelping  to  their  kennels,  to  lie  quiet  for  a 
while,  till  time  might  give  them  courage  for  a  new  attack.  The 
country  round  was  filled  with  the  noise  of  their  plaints,  and  the 
yowling  and  howling  of  canine  defeat.  The  grey  old  badger 
meanwhile  sat  proud  in  his  hole,  with  all  his  badger  kin  around 
him,  and  laughed  his  well-known  badger  laugh  at  his  disconso- 
late foes.  Such  a  brock  had  not  for  years  been  seen  in  the 
country-side ;  so  cool,  so  resolute,  so  knowing  in  his  badger  ways, 


348  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

SO  impregnable  in  his  badger  bole,  and  so  good-humored  withal. 
He  could  bite  full  sore  with  those  old  teeth  of  his,  and  yet  he 
never  condescended  to  show  them.  A  badger  indeed  of  whom 
the  country  might  well  be  proud  ! 

But  in  the  scramble  of  the  fight  some  little  curs  had  been 
permitted  to  run  away  with  some  little  bones  ;  and,  in  this  way, 
Mr.  Nogo,  the  member  for  Mile  End,  had  been  allowed  to  carry 
his  motion  for  a  committee  to  inquire  as  to  the  expediency  of 
the  Government's  advancing  a  quarter  of  a  million  towards  the 
completion  of  that  momentous  national  undertaking,  the  build- 
ing of  a  bridge  from  Limehouse  to  Rotherhithe. 

Very  much  had  been  said  about  this  bridge,  till  men  living 
out  of  the  light  of  parliamentary  life,  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  men,  that  is,  out  of  every  thousand  in  the  Queen's 
dominions,  had  begun  to  think  that  it  was  the  great  want  of  the 
age.  Men  living  in  the  light,  the  supporters  of  the  bridge  as 
well  as  its  enemies,  knew  very  well  that  such  an  erection  was 
quite  unneeded,  and  would  in  all  probability  never  be  made. 
But  then  the  firm  of  Blocks,  Piles,  and  Coff"erdam,  who  held  a 
vast  quantity  of  the  bridge  shares,  and  who  were  to  be  the 
contractors  for  building  it,  had  an  all-powerful  influence  in  the 
borough  of  Limehouse.  Where  would  Mr.  Nogo  be  if  he  did 
not  cultivate  the  friendship  of  such  men  as  Blocks,  Piles,  and 
Cofi"erdam  ? 

And  so  Mr.  Nogo,  and  those  who  acted  with  Mr.  Nogo — 
men,  that  is,  who  had  little  jobs  of  their  own  to  do,  and  in  the 
doing  of  which  Mr.  Nogo  occasionally  assisted,  Undy  Scott,  for 
instance,  and  such  like — these  men,  I  say,  had  talked  much 
about  the  bridge ;  and  gentlemen  on  the  Treasury  bench,  who 
could  have  afi"orded  to  show  up  the  folly  of  the  scheme,  and  to 
put  Mr.  Nogo  down  at  once,  had  he  been  alone,  felt  themselves 
under  the  necessity  of  temporising.  As  to  giving  a  penny  of 
the  public  money  for  such  a  purpose,  that  they  knew  was  out 
of  the  question ;  that  Mr.  Nogo  never  expected ;  that  they  all 
knew  Mr.  Nogo  never  expected.  But  as  Mr.  Nogo's  numbers 
were  so  respectable,  it  was  necessary  to  oppose  him  in  a 
respectable  parliamentary  steady  manner.  He  had  fifteen  with 
him !  Had  he  been  quite  alone,  Mr.  Vigil  would  have  sneered 
him  ofi";  had  he  had  but  four  to  back  him,  the  old  badger 
would  have  laughed  them  out  of  face  with  a  brace  of  grins. 

But  fifteen !  Mr.  Whip  Vigil  thought  that  the  committee 

woul3  be  the  most  safe.     So  would  the  outer  world  be  brought 
to  confess  that  the  interests  of  Limehouse  and  Poplar,  Rother- 


THE   PARLIAMENTARY   COMMITTEE.  349 

hitlie  and  Deptford,  had  not  been  overlooked  by  a  careful 
Government. 

But  of  whom  was  the  committee  to  be  made  up  ?  That  was 
now  the  question  which  to  Mr.  Nogo,  in  his  hour  of  temporary 
greatness,  was  truly  momentous.  He  of  course  w^as  to  be  the 
chairman,  and  to  him  appertained  the  duty  of  naming  the  other 
members;  of  naming  them  indeed — so  much  he  could  undoubt- 
edly do  by  the  strength  of  his  own  privilege.  But  of  what  use 
to  name  a  string  of  men  to  whom  Mr.  Vigil  would  not  consent  ? 
Mr.  Nogo,  did  he  do  so,  would  have  to  divide  on  every  name, 
and  be  beaten  at  every  division.  There  would  be  no  triumph 
in  that.  No  ;  Mr.  Nogo  fully  understood  that  his  triumph  must 
be  achieved — if  he  were  destined  to  a  triumph — by  an  astute 
skill  in  his  selection,  not  by  an  open  choice  of  friends.  He  must 
obtain  a  balance  on  his  side,  but  one  in  which  the  scale  would 
lean  so  slightly  to  his  side  that  Mr.  Vigil's  eyes  might  be  deceived. 
Those  who  knew  Mr.  Vigil  best  were  inclined  to  surmise  that 
such  an  arrangement  was  somew^hat  beyond  Mr.  Nogo's  political 
capacity.  There  is  a  proverb  which  goes  to  show  that  a  certain 
little  lively  animal  may  be  shaved  if  he  be  caught  napping ;  but 
then  the  diflBculty  of  so  catching  him  is  extreme. 

Mr.  Nogo,  at  the  head  of  the  list,  put  Mr.  Vigil  himself. 
This,  of  course,  was  a  necessity  to  him — would  that  he  could 
have  dispensed  with  it !  Then  he  named  sundry  supporters  of 
the  Government,  sundry  members  also  of  the  opposition;  and 
he  filled  up  the  list  with  certain  others  who  could  not  be 
regarded  as  sure  supporters  of  one  side  or  the  other,  but  with 
whom,  for  certain  reasons,  he  thought  he  might  in  this  particu- 
lar case  be  safe.  Undy  Scott  was  of  course  not  among  the 
number,  as  Mr.  Nogo  would  only  have  damaged  his  cause  by 
naming  a  man  known  to  have  a  pecuniary  interest  in  the  concern. 

The  member  for  Mile  End  was  doubtless  sharp,  but  Mr.  Vigil 
was  sharper.  His  object  was,  in  fact,  merely  to  do  his  duty  to 
the  country  by  preventing  a  profuse  and  useless  expenditure  of 
money.  His  anxiety  was  a  perfectly  honest  one — to  save  the 
Exchequer  namely.  But  the  circumstances  of  the  case  required 
that  he  should  fight  the  battle  according  to  the  tactics  of  the 
House,  and  he  well  understood  how  to  do  so. 

When  the  list  was  read  he  objected  to  two  or  three  names — 
only  to  two  or  three.  They  were  not  those  of  staunch  enemies 
of  the  Government ;  nor  did  he  propose  in  their  places  the 
names  of  staunch  supporters.  He  suggested  certain  gentlemen 
who,  from   their  acquaintance  with   bridges,  tolls,  rivers,  (fee. 


350  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

would,  as  lie  said,  be  probably  of  use.  He,  also,  was  sure  of  his 
men,  and  as  he  succeeded  with  two  of  them,  he  was  also  pretty 
sure  of  his  committee. 

And  then  the  committee  met,  and  a  lot  of  witnesses  were  in 
attendance.  The  chairman  opened  his  case,  and  proceeded  to 
prove,  by  the  evidence  of  sundry  most  respectable  men  con- 
nected with  Limehouse,  and  with  the  portions  of  Surrey  and 
Kent  lying  immediately  opposite  to  it,  that  the  most  intense 
desire  for  friendly  and  commercial  intercourse  was  felt ;  but  that, 
though  absolutely  close  to  each  other,  the  districts  were  so 
divided  by  adverse  circumstances,  circumstances  which  were 
monstrous  considering  the  advance  of  science  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  that  the  dearest  friend*  were  constrained  to  perpetual 
banishment  from  each  other ;  and  that  the  men  of  Kent  were 
utterly  unable  to  do  any  trade  at  Limehouse,  and  the  Lime- 
housians  equally  unable  to  carry  on  traffic  in  Surrey. 

It  was  wonderful  that  the  narrow  river  should  be  so  effective 
for  injury.  One  gentleman  from  Poplar  proved  that,  having 
given  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  a  man  of  Deptford  two  years 
since,  he  had  not  yet  been  able  to  see  her  since  that  day.  Her 
house,  by  the  crow's  flight,  was  but  seven  furlongs  from  his  own ; 
but,  as  he  kept  no  horse,  he  could  not  get  to  her  residence 
without  a  four  hours'  walk,  for  which  he  felt  himself  to  be  too 
old.  He  was,  however,  able  to  visit  his  married  daughter  at 
Reading,  and  be  back  to  tea.  The  witness  declared  that  his  life 
was  made  miserable  by  his  being  thus  debarred  from  his  child, 
and  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  pocket-handkerchief  piteously, 
sitting  there  in  front  of  the  committee.  In  answer  to  Mr.  Vigil 
he  admitted  that  there  might  be  a  ferry,  but  stated  that  he  did 
not  know.  Having  had,  from  childhood,  an  aversion  to  the 
water,  he  had  not  inquired.  He  was  aware  that  some  rash 
people  had  gone  through  the  Tunnel,  but  for  himself  he  did  not 
think  the  Tunnel  a  safe  mode  of  transit. 

Another  gentleman  belonging  to  Rotherhithe,  who  was 
obliged  to  be  almost  daily  at  Blackwall,  maintained  two  horses 
for  the  express  purpose  of  going  backwards  and  forwards,  round 
by  London  Bridge.  They  cost  him  lOl.  per  annum  each.  Such 
a  bridge  as  that  now  proposed,  and  which  the  gentleman 
declared  that  he  regarded  as  an  embryo  monument  of  national 
glory,  would  save  him  140Z.  per  annum.  He  then  proceeded 
to  make  a  little  speech  about  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  the 
influence  of  routine,  which  he  described  as  a  gloomy  gnome. 
But   his   oratory  was   cruelly  cut   short   by   Mr. '  Vigil,    who 


THE  PARLIAMENTAEY    COMMITTEE.  351 

demanded  of  liim  whether  he  ever  used  the  river  steamers. 
The  witness  shuddered  fearfully  as  he  assured  the  committee 
that  he  never  did,  and  referred  to  the  Cricket,  whose  boilers 
burst  in  the  year  1842  ;  besides  he  had,  he  said,  his  things  to 
carry  with  him. 

Another  witness  told  how  unsafe  was  the  transit  of  heavy 
goods  by  barge  from  one  side  of  the  river  to  another.  He  had 
had  a  cargo  of  marine  stores  which  would  go  to  sea  before  their 
time.  The  strong  ebb  of  the  tide,  joined  to  the  river  current, 
had  positively  carried  the  barge  away,  and  its  course  had  not 
been  stopped  till  it  had  drifted  on  shore  at  Purfleet.  He 
acknowledged  that  something  had  transpired  of  the  bargemen 
being  drunk,  but  he  had  no  knowledge  himself  that  such  had 
been  the  case.  No  other  cargoes  of  his  own  had  been  carried 
away,  but  he  had  heard  that  such  was  often  the  case.  He 
thought  that  the  bridge  was  imperatively  demanded.  Would 
the  tolls  pay  ?  He  felt  sure  that  they  would.  Why,  then, 
should  not  the  bridge  be  built  as  a  commercial  speculation, 
without  Government  aid  ?  He  thought  that  in  such  cases  a 
fostering  Government  was  bound  to  come  forward  and  show  the 
way.  He  had  a  few  shares  in  the  bridge  himself.  He  had 
paid  up  IZ.  a  share.  They  were  now  worth  25.  Qd.  each.  They 
had  been  worth  nothing  before  the  committee  had  been  ordered 
to  sit.  He  declined  to  give  any  opinion  as  to  what  the  shares 
would  be  worth  if  the  money  were  granted. 

Ladies  at  Limehouse  proved  that  if  there  were  a  bridge,  they 
could  save  305.  a-year  each,  by  buying  their  tea  and  sugar  at 
Rotherhithe ;  and  so  singular  are  the  usages  of  trade,  that  the 
ladies  of  Rotherhithe  would  benefit  their  husbands  equally,  and 
return  the  compliment,  by  consuming  the  bread  of  Limehouse. 
The  shores  of  Kent  were  pining  for  the  beef  of  the  opposite  bank, 
and  only  too  anxious  to  give  in  return  the  surplus  stock  of  their 
own  poultry. 

'*  Let  but  a  bridge  be  opened,"  as  was  asserted  by  one 
animated  vendor  of  rope,  "  and  Poplar  would  soon  rival  Pimlico. 
Perhaps  that  might  not  be  desirable  in  the  eyes  of  men  who 
lived  in  the  purlieus  of  the  Court,  and  who  were  desirous  to 
build  no  new  bridge,  except  that  over  the  ornamental  water  in 
St.  James's  Park."  Upon  uttering  which  the  rope-vendor 
looked  at  Mr.  Vigil,  as  though  he  expected  him  to  sink  at  once 
under  the  table. 

Mr.  Blocks,  of  the  great  firm  of  Blocks,  Piles,  and  Cofferdam, 
then  came  forward.     He  declared  that  a  large  sum  of  money 


352  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

was  necessary  before  this  great  national  undertaking  could  be 
begun  in  a  spirit  worthy  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It  was 
intended  to  commence  the  approaches  on  each  side  of  the  river 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  first  abutment  of  the  bridge,  in 
order  to  acquire  the  necessary  altitude  without  a  steep  ascent. 
He  then  described  what  a  glorious  bridge  this  bridge  would  be; 
how  it  would  eclipse  all  bridges  that  had  ever  been  built ;  how 
the  fleets  of  all  nations  would  ride  under  it;  how  many  hundred 
square  feet  of  wrought  iron  would  be  consumed  in  its  construc- 
tion ;  how  many  tons  of  Portland  stone  in  the  abutments, 
parapets,  and  supporting  walls ;  how  much  timber  would  be 
buried  twenty  fathoms  deep  in  the  mud  of  the  river  ;  how  many 
miles  of  paving-stone  would  be  laid  down.  Mr.  Blocks  went  on 
with  his  astonishing  figures  till  the  committee  were  bewildered, 
and  even  Mr.  Vigil,  though  well  used  to  calculations,  could 
hardly  raise  his  mind  to  the  dimensions  of  the  proposed  under- 
taking. 

The  engineer  followed,  and  showed  how  easily  this  great 
work  could  be  accomplished.  There  was  no  diflSculty,  literally 
none.  The  patronage  of  the  Crown  was  all  that  was  required. 
The  engineer  was  asked  whether  by  the  word  patronage  he 
meant  money,  and  after  a  little  laughing  and  a  few  counter 
questions,  he  admitted  that,  in  his  estimation,  patronage  and 
money  did  mean  the  same  thing. 

Such  was  the  case  made  out  by  the  promoters  of  the  bridge, 
and  the  chairman  and  his  party  were  very  sanguine  of  success. 
They  conceived  that  Mr.  Blocks'  figures  had  completely  cowed 
their  antagonists. 

Mr.  Vigil  then  took  his  case  in  hand,  and  brought  forward  his 
witnesses.  It  now  appeared  that  the  intercourse  between  the 
people  living  on  each  side  of  the  river  was  immense,  and  ever  on 
the  increase.  Limehouse,  it  would  seem,  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  go  to  Deptford,  and  that  Deptford  consumed  all  its  time 
in  returning  the  visit.  Little  children  were  sent  across  continu- 
ally on  the  most  trifling  errands,  going  and  coming  for  one  half- 
penny. An  immense  income  was  made  by  the  owners  of  the 
ferry.  No  two  adjacent  streets  in  London  had  more  to  do  with 
each  other  than  had  the  lanes  of  Eotherhithe  and  the  lanes 
of  Limehouse.  Westminster  and  Lambeth  were  further  apart, 
and  less  connected  by  friendly  intercourse.  The  frequenters  of 
the  ferry  w^ere  found  to  outnumber  the  passengers  over  Waterloo 
Bridge,  by  ten  to  one. 

Indeed,  so  lamentable  a  proposition  as  this  of  building  a  bridge 


TIIE   PAELIAMEXTARY    COMMITTEE.  353 

across  the  river  had  never  before  been  mooted  by  the  public. 
Men  conversant  with  such  matters,  gave  it  as  their  opinion  that 
no  amount  of  tolls  that  could  reasonably  be  expected  would  pay 
one  per  cent,  on  the  money  which  it  was  proposed  to  expend  ; 
that  sum,  however,  they  stated,  would  not  more  than  half  cover 
the  full  cost  of  the  bridge.  Traffic  would  be  prohibited  by  the 
heav}^  charges  which  would  be  necessary,  and  the  probability 
would  be  that  the  ferry  would  still  continue  to  be  the  ordinary 
mode  of  crossing  the  river. 

A  gentleman,  accustomed  to  use  strong  figures  of  speech, 
declared  that  if  such  a  bridge  were  built,  the  wisest  course  would 
be  to  sow  the  surface  with  grass,  and  let  it  out  for  grazing. 
This  witness  was  taken  specially  in  hand  by  Mr.  Nogo,  and 
targed  very  tightly.  Mr.  Vigil  had  contrived  to  prove,  out  of 
the  mouths  of  inimical  witnesses,  the  very  reverse  of  that  which 
they  had  been  summoned  to  assert.  The  secret  of  the  ferry  had 
been  first  brought  to  the  light  by  the  gentleman  who  could  not 
visit  his  daughter  at  Deptford,  and  so  on.  The  triumphs  had 
evidently  been  very  pleasant  to  Mr.  Vigil,  and  Mr.  Nogo  thought 
that  he  might  judiciously  take  a  leaf  out  of  the  Treasury  book. 
Actuated  by  this  ambition,  he,  with  the  assistance  of  his  friend, 
the  M'Carthy  Desmond,  put  no  less  than  2,250  questions  to  the 
gentleman  who  suggested  the  grazing,  in  order  to  induce  him  to 
say,  that  if  there  were  a  bridge,  men  would  probably  walk  over 
it.  But  they  could  not  bring  him  to  own  to  a  single  passenger, 
unless  they  would  abandon  the  tolls.  The  most  that  they  could 
get  from  him  was,  that  perhaps  an  old  woman,  with  more  money 
than  wit,  might  go  over  it  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  if — which  he 
did  not  believe — any  old  woman  existed,  in  that  "part  of  the 
loorld^  who  had  more  money  than  wit. 

This  witness  was  kept  in  the  chair  for  three  days,  during 
which  Mr.  Vigil  was  nearly  driven  wild  by  the  loss  of  his  valua- 
ble time.  But  he  did  not  complain.  Nor  would  he  have  com- 
plained, though  he  might  have  absented  himself,  had  the  witness 
been  kept  in  the  chair  three  weeks  instead  of  three  days.  The 
expense  of  the  committee,  including  witnesses,  short-hand  wri- 
ters, and  printing,  was  about  60/.  a-day,  but  it  never  occurred  to 
any  one  of  the  number  to  get  up  and  declare  with  indignation, 
that  such  a  waste  of  money  and  time  on  so  palpably  absurd  a 
scheme  was  degrading,  and  to  demand  an  immediate  close  of 
their  labors.  It  all  went  smoothly  to  the  end,  and  Mr.  Nogo 
walked  oflf  from  his  task  with  the  approving  conscience  of  a 
patriot  legislator. 


354  THE  THEEE   CLEEKS. 

At  the  close  tlie  members  met  to  prepare  their  report.  It 
was  then  the  first  week  in  August,  and  they  were  naturally  in 
a  hurry  to  finish  their  work.  It  was  now  their  duty  to  decide  on 
the  merits  of  what  they  had  heard,  to  form  a  judgment  as  to  the 
veracity  of  the  witnesses,  and  declare,  on  behalf  of  the  country 
which  they  represented,  whether  or  no  this  bridge  should  be 
built  at  the  expense  of  the  nation. 

With  his  decision  each  was  ready  enough ;  but^Jiot  one  of 
them  dreamed  of  being  influenced  by  anything  which  had 
been  said  before  them.  All  the  world — that  is,  all  that  were  in 
any  way  concerned  in  the  matter — knew  that  the  witnesses  for , 
the  bridge  were  anxious  to  have  it  built,  and  that  the  witnesses 
against  the  bridge  were  anxious  to  prevent  the  building.  It  " « 
would  be  the  worst  of  ignorance  of  the  usage  of  the  world  we 
live  in,  to  suppose  that  any  member  of  Parliament  could  be 
influenced  by  such  manoeuvres.  Besides,  was  not  the  mind  of 
each  man  fully  known  before  the  committee  met  ? 

Various  propositions  were  made  by  the  members  among 
themselves,  and  various  amendments  moved.  The  balance  of 
the  diff"erent  parties  had  been  nearly  preserved.  A  decided  vic- 
tory was  not  to  be  expected  on  either  side.  At  last  the  reso- 
lution to  which  the  committee  came  was  this  :  "  That  this 
committee  is  not  prepared,  under  existing  circumstances,  to  re- 
commend a  grant  of  public  money  for  the  purpose  of  erecting  a 
bridge  at  Limehouse ;  but  that  the  committee  consider  that  the 
matter  is  still  open  to  consideration  should  further  evidence  be 
adduced." 

Mr.  Vigil  was  perfectly  satisfied.  He  did  not  wish  to  acer- 
bate the  member  for  Mile  End,  and  was  quite  willing  to  give 
him  a  lift  towards  keeping  his  seat  for  the  borough,  if  able  to 
to  do  so  without  cost  to  the  public  exchequer.  At  Limehouse 
the  report  of  the  committee  was  declared  by  certain  persons  to 
be  as  good  as  a  decision  in  their  favor ;  it  was  only  postponing 
the  matter  for  another  session.  But  Mr.  Vigil  knew  that  he 
had  carried  his  point,  and  the  world  soon  agreed  with  him. 
He  at  least  did  his  work  successfully,  and,  considering  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  position,  he  did  it  with  credit  to  himself. 

A  huge  blue  volume  was  then  published,  containing,  among 
other  things,  all  Mr.  Nogo's  2,250  questions  and  their  answers ; 
and  so  the  Limehouse  and  Rotherhithe  bridge  dropped  into 
oblivion  and  was  forgotten. 


TO   STAND,    OK  NOT  TO   STAND.  355 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

TO    STAND,    OR    NOT    TO    STAND. 

Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  had  been  somewhat  startled  by 
Alaric's  announcement  of  his  parliamentary  intentions.  It  not 
unnaturally  occurred  to  that  great  man  that  should  Mr.  Tudor 
succeed  at  Strathbogy,  and  should  he  also  succeed  in  being 
allowed  to  hold  his  office  and  seat  together,  he,  Tudor,  would 
very  soon  become  first  fiddle  at  the  Civil  Service  Examination 
Board.  This  was  a  view  of  the  matter  which  was  by  no  means 
agreeable  to  Sir  Gregory.  Not  for  this  had  he  devoted  his  time, 
his  energy,  and  the  best  powers  of  his  mind  to  the  oflSce  of 
which  he  was  at  present  the  chief;  not  for  this  had  he  taken 
by  the  hand  a  young  clerk,  and  brought  him  forward,  and  push- 
ed him  up,  and  seated  him  in  high  places.  To  have  kept  Mr. 
Jobbles  would  have  been  better  than  this ;  he,  at  any  rate, 
would  not  have  aspired  to  parliamentary  honors. 

And  when  Sir  Gregory  came  to  look  into  it,  he  hardly  knew 
whether  those  bugbears  with  which  he  had  tried  to  frighten 
Tudor  were  good  serviceable  bugbears,  such  as  would  stand  the 
strain  of  such  a  man's  logic  and  reason.  Was  there  really  any 
reason  why  one  of  the  commissioners  should  not  sit  in  Parlia- 
ment ?  Would  his  doing  so  be  subversive  of  the  constitution  ? 
^Or  would  the  ministers  of  the  day  object  to  an  additional  cer- 
tain vote  ?  This  last  point  of  view  w^as  one  in  which  it  did  not 
at  all  delight  Sir  Gregory  to  look  at  the  subject  in  question. 
He  determined  that  he  would  not  speak  on  the  matter  to  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  or  to  any  of  the  Government 
wigs  who  might  be  considered  to  be  bigger  wigs  than  himself. 

And  Alaric  thought  over  the  matter  coolly  also.  He  looked 
at  it  till  the  bugbears  shrank  into  utter  insignificance ;  till  they 
became  no  more  than  forms  of  shreds  and  patches  put  up  to 
frighten  birds  out  of  cherry-orchards.  Why  should  the  consti- 
tution be  wounded  by  the  presence  of  one  more  commissioner 
in  Parliament?  Why  should  not  he  do  his  public  duty  and 
hold  his  seat  at  the  same  time,  as  was  done  by  so  many  others  ? 
But  he  would  have  to  go  out  if  the  ministry  went  out.  That 
was  another  difficulty,  another  bugbear,  more  substantial  per- 
haps than  the  others ;  but  he  was  prepared  to  meet  even  that. 
He  was  a  poor  man ;  his  profession  was  that  of  the  Civil  Ser- 


356  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

vice ;  his  ambition  was  to  sit  in  Parliament.  He  would  see 
whether  he  could  not  combine  his  poverty  with  his  profession, 
and  with  his  ambition  also.  Sir  Gregory  resolved  in  his  fear 
that  he  would  not  speak  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  on 
the  matter ;  Alaric,  on  the  other  hand,  in  his  audacity,  resolved 
that  he  would  do  so. 

It  was  thus  that  Sir  Gregory  regarded  the  matter.  "  See  all 
that  I  have  done  for  this  man,"  said  he  to  himself;  "see  how  I 
have  warmed  him  in  my  bosom,  how  I  have  lifted  him  to 
fortune  and  renown,  how  I  have  heaped  benefits  on  his  head  ! 
If  gratitude  in  this  world  be  possible,  that  man  should  be  grate- 
ful to  me  ;  if  one  man  can  ever  have  another's  interest  at  heart, 
that  man  should  have  a  heartfelt  anxiety  as  to  my  interest.  And 
yet  how  is  it?  I  have  placed  him  in  the  chair  next  to  my  own, 
and  now  he  is];Jesirous  of  sitting  above  me!" 

'Twas  thus  Sir  Gregory  communed  with  himself.  But  Alaric's 
soliloquy  was  very  different.  A  listener  who  could  have  over- 
heard both  would  hardly  have  thought  that  the  same  question 
was  being  discussed  by  the  two.  "  I  have  got  so  high,"  said 
Alaric,  "by  my  own  labor,  by  my  own  skill  and  tact;  and  why 
should  I  stop  here?  I  have  left  my  earliest  colleagues  tar 
behind  me ;  have  distanced  those  who  were  my  competitors  in 
the  walk  of  life ;  why  should  I  not  still  go  on  and  distance 
others  also  ?  why  stop  when  I  am  only  second  or  third  ?  It  is 
very  natural  that  Sir  Gregory  should  wish  to  keep  me  out  of 
Parliament ;  I  cannot  in  the  least  blame  him ;  let  us  all  fight 
as  best  each  may  for  himself.  He  does  not  wish  a  higher  career; 
I  do.  Sir  Gregory  will  now  do  all  that  he  can  to  impede  my 
views,  because  they  are  antagonistic  to  his  own  ;  very  well ;  I 
must  only  work  the  harder  to  overcome  his  objections."  There 
was  no  word  in  all  this  of  gratitude  ;  there  was  no  thought  in 
Alaric's  mind  that  it  behoved  him  to  be  grateful  to  Sir  Gregory. 
It  was  for  his  own  sake,  not  for  his  pupil's,  that  Sir  Gregory  had 
brought  this  pupil  forward.  Grateful,  indeed !  In  public  life 
when  is  there  time  for  gratitude  ?  Who  ever  thinks  of  other 
interest  than  his  own  ? 

Such  was  Alaric's  theory  of  life.  But  not  the  less  would  he 
have  expected  gratitude  from  those  whom  he  might  serve.  Such 
also  very  probably  was  Sir  Gregory's  theory  when  he  thought 
of  those  who  had  helped  him,  instead  of  those  whom  he  him- 
self had  helped. 

And  so  they  met,  and  discussed  Alaric's  little  proposition. 

"  Since  I  saw  you  yesterday,"  said  Sir  Gregory,  "  I  have  been 


TO  STAND,  OR  NOT  TO  STAND.  357 

thinking  much  of  what  you  were  saying  to  me  of  your  wish  to 
go  into  Parliament." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  yon,"  said  Alaric. 

"  I  need  hardly  tell  you,  Tudor,  how  anxious  I  am  to  further 
your  advancement.  I  greatly  value  your  ability  and  diligence, 
and  have  shown  that  I  am  anxious  to  make  them  serviceable 
to  the  public." 

"  I  am  fully  aware  that  I  owe  you  a  great  deal.  Sir  Gregory." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that;  that's  nothing;  I  am  not  thinking 
of  myself.  I  only  want  you  to  understand  that  I  am  truly 
anxious  to  see  you  take  that  line  in  public  matters  which  may 
make  your  services  most  valuable  to  the  public,  and  which  may 
redound  the  most  to  your  own  advantage.  I  have  thought  of 
what  you  said  to  me  with  the  most  mature  deliberation,  and  I 
am  persuaded  that  I  shall  best  do  my  duty  to  you,  and  to  the 
service,  by  recommending  you  to  abandon  altogether  your  idea 
of  going  into  Parliament." 

Sir  Gregory  said  this  in  his  weightiest  manner.  He  endea- 
vored to  assume  some  of  that  authority  with  which  he  had  erst 
cowed  the  young  Tudor  at  the  Weights  and  Measures,  and  as 
he  finished  his  speech  he  assumed  a  profound  look  which  ought 
to  have  been  very  convincing. 

But  the  time  was  gone  by  with  Alaric  when  such  tricks  of 
legerdemain  were  convincing  to  him.  A  grave  brow,  compressed 
lips,  and  fixed  eyes,  had  no  longer  much  effect  upon  him.  He 
had  a  point  to  gain,  and  he  was  thinking  of  that,  and  not  of 
Sir  Gregory's  grimaces. 

"  Then  you  will  not  see  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  on 
the  subject  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Sir  Gregory  ;  "  it  would  be  useless  for  me  to  do 
so.  I  could  not  advocate  such  a  scheme,  feeling  certain  that  it 
would  be  injurious  both  to  yourself  and  to  the  service ;  and  I 
would  not  desire  to  see  the  Chancellor  with  the  view  of  opposing 
your  wishes." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  that,  at  any  rate,"  said  Alaric. 

"  But  I  do  hope  that  you  will  not  carry  your  plan  any  further. 
When  I  tell  you,  as  I  do  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  that  I  feel 
certain  that  an  attempt  to  seat  yourself  in  Parliament  can  only 
lead  to  the  ruin  of  your  prospects  as  a  Civil  servant — prospects 
which  are  brighter  now  than  those  of  any  other  young  man  in 
the  service — I  cannot  but  think  that  you  must  hesitate  before 
you  take  any  step  which  will,  in  my  opinion,  render  your  resig- 
nation necessary." 


358  THE   THREE    CLEIIKS. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  resign,  Sir  Gregory,  as  I  have  such  true 
pleasure  in  serving  with  you." 

"And,  I  presume,  a  salary  of  1200/.  a-year  is  not  unaccepta- 
ble ?"  said  Sir  Gregory,  with  the  very  faintest  of  smiles. 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Alaric  ;  "  I  am  a  poor  man,  depending 
altogether  on  my  own  exertions  for  an  income.  I  cannot  afford 
to  throw  away  a  chance." 

"Then,  take  my  word  for  it,  you  should  give  up  all  idea  of 
Parliament,"  said  Sir  Gregory,  who  thought  that  he  had  carried 
his  point. 

"  But  I  call  a  seat  in  Parliament  a  chance,"  said  Alaric  ;  *'  the 
best  chance  that  a  man,  circumstanced  as  I  am,  can  possibly 
have.  I  have  the  offer  of  a  seat.  Sir  Gregoiy,  and  I  can't  afford 
to  throw  it  away." 

"  Then  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you,  as  the  head  of  your  office, 
that  it  will  be  your  duty  to  resign  before  you  offer  yourself  as 
a  candidate." 

"  That,  you  mean,  is  your  present  opinion.  Sir  Gregory  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Tudor,  that  is  my  opinion — an  opinion  which  I 
shall  be  forced  to  express  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
if  you  persist  in  this  infatuation." 

Alaric  looked  very  grave,  but  not  a  whit  angry.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  it.  Sir  Gregory,  very  sorry ;  I  had  hoped  to  have  had  your 
countenance." 

"  I  would  give  it  you,  Mr.  Tudor,  if  I  could  consistently  with 
my  duty  as  a  public  servant ;  but  as  I  cannot,  I  am  sure  you 
will  not  ask  for  it."  How  Fidus  Neverbend  would  have  admired 
the  chief  commissioner  could  he  have  seen  and  heard  him  at 
this  moment !  "  But,"  he  continued,  relaxing  for  a  while  the 
muscles  of  his  face,  "  I  hope,  I  do  hope,  you  will  think  better 
of  this.  What  are  you  to  gain  ?  Come,  Tudor,  think  of  it 
that  way.  What  are  you  to  gain  ?  You,  with  a  wife  and  young- 
family  coming  up  about  your  heels,  what  are  you  to  gain  by 
going  into  Parliament  ?  That  is  what  I  ask  you.  What  are 
you  to  gain  ?"  It  was  delightful  to  see  how  pleasantly  practical 
Sir  Gregory  could  become  when  he  chose  to  dismount  from  his 
high  horse. 

"  It  is  considered  a  high  position  in  this  country,  that  of  a 
member  of  Parliament,"  said  Alaric.  "  A  man  in  gaining  that 
is  generally  supposed  to  have  gained  something." 

"  True,  quite  true.  It  is  a  desirable  position  for  a  rich  man, 
or  a  rich  man's  eldest  son,  or  even  for  a  poor  man,  if  by  getting 
into  Parliament  he  can  put  himself  in  the  way  of  improving  his 


TO  STAND,  OR  NOT  TO  STAND.  359 

income.  But,  my  dear  Tudor,  yoa  are  in  none  of  these  posi- 
tions. Abandon  the  idea,  my  dear  Tudor — pray  abandon  it. 
If  not  for  your  own  sake,  at  any  rate  do  so  for  that  of  your 
wife  and  child." 

Sir  Gregory  might  as  well  have  whistled.  Not  a  word  that 
he  said  had  the  slightest  eflfect  on  Alaric.  How  was  it  possible 
that  his  words  should  have  any  effect,  seeing  that  Alaric  was 
convinced  that  Sir  Gregory  was  pleading  for  his  own  advantage, 
and  not  for  that  of  his  listener?  Alaric  did  listen.  He  received 
all  that  Sir  Gregory  said  with  the  most  profound  attention ; 
schooled  his  face  into  a  look  of  the  most  polite  deference ;  and 
then,  with  his  most  cruel  tone,  informed  Sir  Gregory  that  his 
mind  was  quite  made  up,  and  that  he  did  intend  to  submit  him- 
self to  the  electors  of  Strathbogy. 

"  And  as  to  what  you  say  about  my  seat  at  the  board.  Sir 
Gregory,  you  may  probably  be  right.  Perhaps  it  will  be  as 
well  that  I  shoukl  see  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  myself." 

"  '  Who  will  to  Cupar  maun  to  Cupar,'  "  said  Sir  Gregory ; 
"  I  can  only  say,  Mr.  xudbf,  that  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  and 
very  sorry  for  your  wife — very  sorry,  very  sorry  indeed." 

"And  who  will  to  Strathbogy  maun  to  Strathbogy,"  said 
Alaric,  laughing ;  "  there  is  certainly  an  air  of  truth  about  the 
proverb  as  applied  to  myself  just  at  present.  But  the  fact  is, 
whether  for  good  or  for  bad,  I  maun  to  Strathbogy.  That  is 
my  present  destiny.  The  fact  that  I  have  a  wife  and  a  child 
does  make  the  step  a  most  momentous  one.  But,  Sir  Gregory, 
I  should  never  forgive  myself  were  I  to  throw  away  such  an 
opportunity." 

"  Then  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  Mr.  Tudor." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  try  to  save  my  place,"  continued  Alaric. 

"  I  look  upon  that  as  quite  impossible,"  said  Sir  Gregory. 

"  It  can  do  me  no  harm  at  any  rate  to  see  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer.  If  he  tells  me  that  a  seat  in  Parliament  and  a 
seat  at  the  board  are  incompatible,  and  that  as  one  of  the  Civil 
Service  Commissioners  I  am  not  free  to  stand  for  the  borough, 
I  will  in  that  case.  Sir  Gregory,  put  my  resignation  in  your 
hands  before  I  publish  my  address." 

And  so  they  parted,  each  determined  to  do  all  that  in  him 
lay  to  thwart  the  wishes  of  the  other.  Alaric  was  not  in  the 
least  influenced  by  anything  that  Sir  Gregory  had  said  to  him : 
he  had  made  up  his  mind,  and  was  determined  to  be  turned 
from  it  by  no  arguments  that  his  colleague  could  use ;  but  never- 
theless he  could  not  but  be  meditative,  as,  walking  home  across 


360  THE   THREE   CLEEKS. 

the  Parks,  lie  thought  of  his  wife  and  child.  It  is  true  that  he 
had  a  second  trade ;  he  was  a  stock-jobber  as  well  as  a  Civil 
Service  Commissioner ;  but  he  already  perceived  how  very  diffi- 
cult it  was  to  realise  an  income  to  which  he  could  trust  from 
that  second  precarious  pursuit.  He  had  also  lived  in  a  style 
considerably  beyond  that  which  his  official  income  w^ould  have 
enabled  him  to  assume.  He  had  on  the  whole,  he  thought, 
done  very  well ;  but  yet  it  would  be  a  dreadful  thing  to  have  to 
trust  to  so  precarious  a  livelihood.  He  had  realised  nothing ; 
he  had  not  yet  been  able  to  pay  back  the  money  which  he  had 
so  fraudulently  taken,  and  to  acquit  himself  of  a  debt  which 
now  lay  daily  heavier  and  heavier  on  his  soul.  He  felt  that  he 
must  repay  not  only  that  but  Undy's  share  also,  before  he  could 
again  pass  a  happy  day  or  a  quiet  night.  This  plan  of  throw- 
ing up  1200Z.  a-year  would  badly  assist  him  in  getting  rid  of 
this  incubus. 

But  still  that  watchword  of  his  goaded  him  on — "Excelsior!" 
he  still  said  to  himself;  "Excelsior!"  If  he  halted  now,  now 
when  the  ball  was  at  his  foot,  he  might  never  have  another 
chance.  Very  early  in  life,  before  a  beard  was  on  his  chin, 
before  he  could  style  himself  a  man  according  to  the  laws  of  his 
country,  he  had  determined  within  himself  that  a  seat  in  Par- 
liament was  the  only  fitting  ambition  for  an  Englishman.  That 
was  now  within  his  reach.  Would  he  be  such  a  dastard  as  to 
draw  back  his  hand,  and  be  deterred  from  taking  it,  by  old 
women's  tales  of  prudence,  and  the  self-interested  lectures  of  Sir 
Gregory  Hardlines  ? 

Excelsior !  There  was  not  much  that  could  be  so  styled  in 
that  debt  of  his  to  M.  and  Madame  Jaquetanape.  If  he  could 
only  pay  that  ofl:'  he  felt  that  he  could  brave  the  world  without 
a  fear.  Come  what  come  might  he  would  sell  out  and  do  so. 
The  bridge  committee  was  sitting,  and  his  shares  were  already 
worth  more  than  he  had  paid  for  them.  Mr.  Blocks  had  just 
given  his  evidence,  and  the  commercial  world  was  willing  enough 
to  invest  in  the  Limehouse  bridge.  He  would  sell  out  and  put 
his  conscience  at  rest. 

But  then  to  do  so  successfully,  he  must  induce  Undy  to  do 
so  too ;  and  that  he  knew  would  not  at  present  be  an  easy  task. 
Who  had  ever  been  successful  in  getting  back  money  from 
Undy  Scott?  He  had  paid  the  last  half-year's  interest  with 
most  commendable  punctuality,  and  was  not  that  a  great  deal 
from  Undy  Scott? 

But  what  if  this  appropriation  of  another's  money,  what  if 


TO    STAXD,    OR   NOT  TO   STAND.  561 

this  fraud  slioiild  be  detected  and  exposed  before  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  paying  back  the  10,000/.  What  if  he  should  wake 
some  morning  and  find  himself  in  the  grip  of  some  Newgate 
myrmidon  ?  A  terrible  new  law  had  just  been  passed  for  the 
protection  of  trust  property;  a  law  in  which  he  had  not  felt  the 
slightest  interest  when  he  had  first  seen  in  the  daily  newspapers 
some  tedious  account  of  the  passing  of  the  various  clauses,  but 
which  was  now  terrible  to  his  innermost  thoughts. 

His  walk  across  the  Parks  was  not  made  happy  by  much 
self-triumph.  In  spite  of  his  commissionership  and  coming- 
parliamentary  honors,  his  solitary  moments  were  seldom  very 
happy.  It  was  at  his  club,  when  living  with  Undy  and  Undy's 
peers,  that  he  was  best  able  to  throw  off  his  cares  and  enjoy 
himself.  But  even  then,  hig-h  as  he  was  mounted  on  his  fast- 
trotting  horse,  black  Care  would  sit  behind  him,  ever  mounted 
on  the  same  steed. 

And  bitterly  did  poor  Gertrude  feel  the  misery  of  these  even- 
ings which  her  husband  passed  at  his  club  ;  but  she  never 
reviled  him  or  complained  ;  she  never  spoke  of  her  sorrow  even 
to  her  mother  or  sister.  She  did  not  even  blame  him  in  her 
ow^n  heart.  She  knew  that  he  had  other  business  than  that 
of  his  office,  higher  hopes  than  those  attached  to  his  board  ;  and 
she  taught  herself  to  believe  that  his  career  required  him  to  be 
among  public  men. 

He  had  endeavored  to  induce  her  to  associate  constantly 
wdth  Mrs.  Val,  so  that  her  evenings  might  not  be  passed  alone ; 
but  Gertrude,  after  trying  Mrs.  Val  for  a  time,  had  quietly  repu- 
diated the  closeness  of  this  alliance.  Mrs.  Val  had  her  ideas  of 
"  Excelsior,"  her  ambition  to  rule,  and  these  ideas  and  this  am- 
bition did  not  at  all  suit  Gertrude's  temper.  Not  even  for  her 
husband's  sake  could  she  bring  herself  to  be  patronised  by  Mrs. 
Val.  They  were  still  very  dear  friends  of  course ;  but  they  did 
not  live  in  each  other's  arms  as  Alaric  had  intended  they  should 
do. 

He  returned  home  after  his  interview  with  Sir  Gregory,  and 
found  his  wife  in  the  drawing-room  with  her  child.  He  usually 
went  down  from  his  office  to  his  club,  and  she  was  therefore  the 
more  ready  to  welcome  him  for  having  broken  through  his  habit 
on  the  present  occasion.  She  left  her  infant  sprawling  on  the 
floor,  and  came  up  to  greet  him  with  a  kiss. 

"  Ger," — said  he,  putting  his  arm  round  her  and  embracing 
her — •'  I  have  come  home  to  consult  j^ou  on  business ; "  and 
then  he  seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  taking  her  with  him,  and 

16 


362  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

still  in  his  arms.  There  was  but  little  doubt  that  she  would 
consent  to  anything  which  he  could  propose  to  her  after  such 
a  fashion,  in  such  a  guise  as  this  ;  that  he  knew  full  well. 

"Well,  love,"  said  she,  "and  what  is  the  business  about? 
You  know  that  I  always  think  that  to  be  best  which  you  think 
to  be  best." 

"  Yes,  Ger  ;  but  this  is  a  very  important  matter  ;  "  and  then 
he  looked  grave,  but  managed  at  the  same  time  to  look  happy 
and  contented.  "  This  is  a  matter  of  vital  importance  to  you, 
and  I  will  do  nothing  in  it  without  your  consent." 

"  What  is  best  for  you  must  be  best  for  me,"  said  Gertrude, 
kissing  his  forehead. 

Then  he  explained  to  her  what  had  passed  between  himself 
and  Sir  Gregory,  and  what  his  own  ideas  were  as  regarded  the 
borough  of  Strathbogy.  "  Sir  Gregory,"  said  he,  "  is  determined 
that  I  shall  not  remain  at  the  board  and  sit  in  Parliament  at  the 
same  time ;  but  I  do  not  see  why  Sir  Gregory  is  to  have  his 
own  way  in  everything.  If  you  are  not  afraid  of  the  risk,  I  will 
make  up  my  mind  to  stand  it  at  all  events,  and  to  resign  if  the 
Minister  makes  it  imperative.  If,  however,  you  fear  the 
result,  I  will  let  the  matter  drop,  and  tell  the  Scotts  to 
find  another  candidate.  I  am  anxious  to  go  into  Parlia- 
ment, I  confess;  but  I  will  never  do  so  at  the  expense  of 
your  peace  of  mind." 

The  way  in  which  he  put  upon  her  the  whole  weight  of  the 
decision  was  not  generous.  Nor  was  the  mode  he  adopted  of 
inducing  her  to  back  his  own  wishes.  If  there  were  risk  to  her 
— and  in  truth  there  was  fearful  risk — it  was  his  duty  to  guard 
her  from  the  chance,  not  hers  to  say  whether  such  danger  sTiould 
be  encountered  or  no.  The  nature  of  her  answer  may  be  easily 
surmised.  She  was  generous,  though  he  was  not.  She  would 
never  retard  his  advance,  or  be  felt  as  a  millstone  round  his 
neck.  She  encouraged  him  with  all  her  enthusiasm,  and  bade 
him  throw  prudence  to  the  winds.  If  he  rose,  must  she  not  rise 
also  ?  Whatever  step  in  life  was  good  for  him,  must  it  not  be 
good  for  her  as  well  ?  And  so  that  matter  was  settled  between 
them — pleasantly  enough. 

He  endured  a  fortnight  of  considerable  excitement,  during 
which  he  and  Sir  Gregory  did  not  smile  at  each  other,  and  then 
he  saw  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  That  gentleman 
promised  to  speak  to  the  Prime  Minister,  feeling  himself  unable 
to  answer  the  question  put  to  him,  definitely  out  of  his  own 
head ;  and  then  another  fortnight  passed  on.     At  the  end  of 


TO   STAND,    OR   NOT  TO  STAND.  363 

that  time  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  sent  for  Alaric,  and 
they  had  a  second  interview. 

"  Wei],  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  the  great  man,  "  this  is  a  matter  of 
very  considerable  importance,  and  one  on  which  I  am  not  even 
yet  prepared  to  give  you  a  positive  answer." 

This  was  very  good  news  for  Alaric.  Sir  Gregory  had  spoken 
of  the  matter  as  one  on  which  there  could  be  no  possible  doubt. 
lie  had  asserted  that  the  British  lion  would  no  longer  sleep 
peaceably  in  his  lair,  if  such  a  violence  wexe  put  on  the  consti- 
tution as  that  meditated  by  the  young  commissioner.  It  was 
quite  clear  that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  and  the  Prime 
Minister  also,  looked  at  it  in  a  very  different  light.  They  doubted, 
and  Alaric  was  well  aware  that  their  doubt  was  as  good  as 
certainty  to  him. 

The  truth  was  that  the  Prime  Minister  had  said  to  the  Chan^ 
cellor  of  the  Exchequer,  in  a  half  ooriouSj  half  jocular,  way,  thai 
he  didn't  see  why  he  should  rejeet  a  vote  when  offered  to  Eiml 
by  a  member  of  the  Civil  Service.  Tlie  man  must  of  course  do\ 
his  work — and  should  it  be  found  that  his  office  work  and  his 
seat  in  Parliament  interfered  with  each  other,  why,  he  must  take 

the  consequences.     And  if or or made 

a  row  about  it  in  the  House  and  complained,  why  in  that  case 
also  Mr.  Tudor  must  take  the  consequences.  And  then,  enough 
having  been  said  on  that  matter,  the  conversation  dropped. 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  give  a  positive  answer,"  said  the  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer,  who  of  course  did  not  choose  to  commit 
himself. 

Alaric  assured  the  great  man  that  he  was  not  so  unreasonable 
as  to  expect  a  positive  answer.  Positive  answers,  as  he  well 
knew,  were  not  often  forthcoming  among  officialmen  ;  official 
men,  as  he  had  already  learnt,  prefer  to  do  their  business  by 
answers  which  are  not  positive.  He  himself  had  become  adverse 
to  positive  answers  since  he  had  become  a  commissioner,  and  was 
quite  prepared  to  dispense  with  them  in  the  parliamentary  career 
which  he  hoped  that  he  was  now  about  to  commence.  This 
much,  however,  was  quite  clear,  that  he  might  offer  himself  as 
a  candidate  to  the  electors  of  Strathbogy  without  resigning  ;  and 
that  Sir  Gregory's  hostile  remonstrance  on  the  subject,  should 
he  choose  to  make  one,  would  not  be  received  as  absolute  law 
by  the  greater  powers. 

Accordingly  as  Alaric  was  elated,  Sir  Gregory  was  depressed. 
He  had  risen  high,  but  now  this  young  tyro  whom  he  had  fostered 
was  about  to  climb  above  his  head.     0  the  ingratitude  of  men  ! 


364  THE  THREE   CLEBKS. 

Alaric,  however,  showed  no  triumph.  He  was  more  sub- 
missive, more  gracious  than  ever  to  his  chief.  It  was  only  to 
himself  that  he  muttered  "  Excelsior !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

WESTMINSTER  HALL. 


The  parliamentary  committee  pursued  their  animated  inquiries 
respecting  the  Limehouse  bridge  all  through  the  sultry  month 
of  July.  How  Mr.  Vigil  must  have  hated  Mr.  Nogo,  and  the 
M'Carthy  Desmond  !  how  sick  he  must  have  been  of  that  eternal 
witness  who,  with  imperturbable  effrontery,  answered  the  2,250 
questions  put  to  him  without  admitting  anything!  To  Mr. 
Vio-il  it  was  all  mere  nonsense,  sheer  waste  of  time.  Had  he 
been  condemned  to  sit  for  eight  days  in  close  contiguity  to  the 
clappers  of  a  small  mill,  he  would  have  learnt  as  much  as  he  did 
from  the  witnesses  before  the  committee.  Nevertheless  he  went 
through  it  and  did  not  lose  his  temper.  He  smiled  sweetly  on 
Mr.  Nogo  every  morning,  and  greeted  the  titled  Irishman  with 
his  easy  familiar  nod,  as  though  the  continued  sitting  of  this 
very  committee  was  of  all  things  to  him  the  most  desirable. 
Such  is  Mr.  Vigil's  peculiar  tact,  such  his  special  talent ;  these 
are  the  gifts —  gifts  by  no  means  ordinary — which  have  made 
him  Right  Honorable,  and  recommended  him  to  the  confidence 
of  successive  badgers. 

But  though  the  committee  was  uninteresting  to  Mr.  Vigil,  it 
was  not  so  to  the  speculative  inhabitants  of  Limehouse,  or  to 
the  credulous  shopkeepers  of  Rotherhithe.  On  the  evening  of 
the  day  on  which  Mr.  Blocks  was  examined,  the  shares  went  up 
to  20  per  cent.;  and  when  his  evidence  was  published  in  extenso 
the  next  Saturday  morning  by  the  Capel  Court  Share-buyer,  a 
periodical  which  served  for  Bible  and  Prayer  book,  as  well  as  a 
Compendium  of  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man,  to  Undy  Scott  and 
his  friends,  a  further  rise  in  the  price  of  this  now  valuable  pro- 
perty was  the  immediate  consequence. 

Now,  then,  was  the  time  for  Alaric  to  sell  and  get  out  of  his 
difficulties  if  ever  he  could  do  so.  Shares  which  he  bought  for 
305.  were  now  worth  nearly  21.  lOs.  He  was  strongly  of  opi- 
nion that  they  would  fall  again,  and  that  the  final  result  of  the 
committee  would  leave  them  of  a  less  value  than  their  original 
purchase-money,  and  probably  altogether  valueless.  He  could 
not,  however,  act  in  the  matter  without  consulting  Undy,  so 


WESTMINSTER   HALL.  365 

closely  Unlved  were  they  in  tlie  speculation ;  and  even  at  the 
present  price  bis  own  shares  would  not  enable  him  to  pay  back 
the  full  amount  of  what  he  had  taken. 

The  joint  property  of  the  two  was,  however,  at  its  present 
market  price,  worth  12,000^. — 10,000/.  would  make  him  a  free 
man.  He  was  perfectly  willing  to  let  Undy  have  the  full  use  of 
the  difference  in  amount ;  nay,  he  was  ready  enough  to  give  it 
to  him  altogether,  if  by  so  doing  he  could  place  the  whole  of 
his  ward's  money  once  more  in  safety.  With  the  power  of  offer- 
ing such  a  douceur  to  his  friend's  rapacity,  he  flattered  himself 
that  he  might  have  a  chance  of  being  successful.  He  was  thus 
prepared  to  discuss  the  matter  with  his  partner. 

It  so  happened  that  at  the  same  moment  Undy  was  desirous 
of  discussing  the  same  subject,  their  joint  interest,  namely,  in 
the  Limeho'use  Bridge ;  there  was  no  difficulty  therefore  in  their 
coming  together.  They  met  at  the  door  of  the  committee-room 
when  Mr.  Nogo  had  just  put  his  999th  question  to  the  adverse 
witness ;  and  as  the  summons  to  prayers  prevented  the  1000th 
being  proceeded  with  at  that  moment,  Undy  and  Alaric  saun- 
tered back  along  the  passages,  and  then  walking  up  and  down 
the  immense  space  of  Westminster  Hall,  said  each  to  the  other 
what  he  had  to  say  on  the  matter  mooted  between  them. 

Undy  was  in  great  glee,  and  seemed  to  look  on  his  fortune  as 
already  made.  They  had  at  first  confined  their  remarks  to  the 
special  evadence  of  the  witness  who  had  last  been  in  the  chair; 
and  Undy,  with  the  volubility  which  was  common  to  him  when 
he  was  in  high  spirits,  had  been  denouncing  him  as  an  ass  who 
was  injuring  his  own  cause  by  his  over  obstinacy. 

"  Nothing  that  he  can  say,"  said  Undy,  "  will  tell  upon  the 
share-market.  The  stock  is  rising  from  hour  to  hour  ;  and  Piles 
himself  told  me  that  he  knew  from  sure  intelligence  that  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  is  prepared  to  give  way,  whatever 
Vigil  may  say  to  the  contrary.  Their  firm,  Piles  says,  is  buying 
every  share  they  can  lay  their  hands  on." 

"  Then  in  God's  name  let  them  buy  ours,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Buy  ours  !  "  said  Undy.  "  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you  wish  to  sell  now  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  want 
to  back  out,  now  that  the  game  is  all  going  our  own  way  ? " 

"  Indeed  I  do,  and  I  intend  to  do  so ;  just  listen  to  me, 
Undy " 

"  I  tell  you  fairly,  Tudor,  I  will  not  sell  a  share ;  what  you 
may  choose  to  do  with  your  own  I  cannot  say.  But  if  you  will 
be  guided  by  me  you  will  keep  every  share  you  have  got.     In- 


366  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

stead  of  selling  we  should  both  add  to  our  stock.  I  at  any  rate 
am  resolved  to  do  so." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Undy,"  said  Alaric. 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  IJndy — who  at  the  present  moment  pre- 
ferred talking  to  listening — "the  truth  is,  you  do  not  understand 
buying  and  selling  shares.  AVe  should  both  be  ruined  very 
quickly  were  I  to  allow  myself  to  be  led  by  you  ;  you  are  too 
timid,  too  much  afraid  of  risking  your  money ;  your  speculative 
pluck  hardly  rises  higher  than  the  three  per  cents.,  and  never 
soars  above  a  first-class  mortgage  on  land." 

"  I  could  be  as  sanguine  as  you  are,  and  as  bold,"  said  Alaric, 
"  were  I  venturing  with  my  own  money." 

"  In  the  name  of  goodness  get  that  bugbear  out  of  your  head," 
said  Undy.  '*  Whatever  good  it  might  have  done  you  to  think 
of  that  some  time  ago,  it  can  do  you  no  good  now."  '  There  was 
a  bitter  truth  in  this  which  made  Alaric's  heart  sink  low  within 
his  breast.  "  Wherever  the  money  came  from,  whose  property 
it  may  have  been  or  be,  it  has  been  used ;  and  now  your  only 
safety  is  in  making  the  best  use  of  it.  A  little  daring,  a  little 
audacity — it  is  that  which  ruins  men.  When  you  sit  down  to 
play  brag,  you  must  brag  it  out,  or  lose  your  money." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  there  is  no  question  here  of  losing 
money.     If  we  sell  now  we  shall  realise  about  2,000Z." 

"And  will  that,  or  the  half  of  that  satisfy  you?  Is  that 
your  idea  of  a  good  thing?  Will  that  be  suflicient  to  pay  for 
the  dozen  of  bad  things  which  a  fellow  is  always  putting 
his  foot  into  ?  It  won't  satisfy  me.  I  can  tell  you  that  at 
any  rate." 

Alaric  felt  very  desirous  of  keeping  Undy  in  a  good  humor. 
He  wished,  if  possible,  to  persuade  him  rather  than  to  drive 
him ;  to  coax  him  into  repaying  this  money,  and  not  absolutely  to 
demand  the  repayment.  "  Come,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  call  a 
good  thing,  yourself?" 

"  I  call  cent,  per  cent,  a  good  thing,  and  I'll  not  siill  a  share 
till  they  come  up  to  that." 

"  They'll  never  do  that,  Undy." 

"  That's  your  opinion.  I  think  differently.  And  I'm  sure 
you  will  own  I  have  had  more  experience  of  the  share-market 
than  you  have.  When  I  see  such  men  as  Blocks  and  Piles 
buying  fast,  I  know  very  well  which  way  the  wind  blows.  A 
man  may  be  fishing  a  long  time,  Tudor,  in  these  waters,  before 
he  gets  such  a  haul  as  this ;  but  he  must  be  a  great  fool  to  let 
go  his  net  when  he  does  get  it." 


WESTMINSTER   HALL.  367 

They  botli  then  remained  silent  for  a  time,  for  each  was 
doubtful  how  best  to  put  forward  the  view  which  he  himself 
wished  to  urge.  Their  projects  were  diametrically  different, 
and  yet  neither  could  carry  his  own  without  the  assistance  of 
the  other. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  propose,"  said  Undy. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Ilndy,"  said  Alaric ;  "  listen  to  me  for  one 
moment.  I  can  hear  nothing  till  you  do  so,  and  then  I  will 
hear  anything." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  We  have  each  of  us  put  something  near  to  5,000^.  into  this 
venture." 

"  I  have  put  more,"  said  Scott. 

"  Very  well.  But  we  have  each  of  us  withdrawn  a  sum 
equal  to  that  I  have  named  from  my  ward's  fortune  for  this 
purpose." 

"  I  deny  that,"  said  Undy.  "  I  have  taken  nothing  from 
your  ward's  fortune.  I  have  had  no  power  to  do  so.  You 
have  done  as  you  pleased  with  that  fortune.  But  I  am  ready 
to  admit  that  I  have  borrowed  5,000^. ; — not  from  your  ward, 
but  from  you." 

Alaric  was  nearly  beside  himself;  but  he  still  felt  that 
he  should  have  no  chance  of  carrying  his  point  if  he  lost  his 
temper. 

"  That  is  ungenerous  of  you,  Scott,  to  say  the  least  of  it ; 
but  we'll  let  that  pass.  To  enable  me  to  lend  you  the  5,000?., 
and  to  enable  me  to  join  you  in  this  speculation,  10,000?.  has 
been  withdrawn  from  Clementina's  fortune." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,"  said  Scott. 

"  Know  nothing  about  it  1"  said  Alaric,  looking  at  him  with 
withering  scorn.  But  Undy  was  not  made  of  withering  material, 
and  did  not  care  a  straw  for  his  friend's  scorn. 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  so  be  it,"  said  Alaric  ;  "  but  the  fact  is,  the  money 
has  been  withdrawn." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  in  the  least,"  said  Undy. 

"  I  am  not  now  going  to  argue  whether  the  fault  has  been 
most  mine  or  yours,"  continued  Alaric. 

"  Well,  that  is  kind  of  you,"  said  Undy,  "  considering  that 
you  are  the  girl's  trustee,  and  that  I  have  no  more  to  do  with  it 
than  that  fellow  in  the  wig  there." 

"  I  wish  at  any  rate  you  would  let  me  explain  myself,"  said 
Alaric,  who  felt  that  his  patience  was  fast  going,  and  who  could 


368  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

hardly  resist  the  temptation  of  seizing  his  companion  by  the 
throat,  and  punishing  him  on  the  spot  for  his  iniquity. 

"  I  don't  prevent  yon,  my  dear  fellow — only  remember  this ; 
I  will  not  permit  you  to  assert,  without  contradicting  you,  that 
I  am  responsible  for  Clem's  fortune.  Now,  go  on,  and  explain 
away  as  hard  as  you  like." 

Alaric,  under  these  circumstances,  found  it  not  very  easy  to 
put  what  he  had  to  say  into  any  words  that  his  companion 
would  admit.  He  fully  intended  at  some  future  day  to  thrust 
Scott's  innocence  down  his  throat,  and  tell  him  that  he  was  not 
only  a  thief,  but  a  mean,  lying,  beggarly  thief.  But  the  present 
was  not  the  time.  Too  much  depended  on  his  inducing  Undy 
to  act  with  him. 

"  Ten  thousand  pounds  has  at  any  rate  been  taken." 

"  That  I  won't  deny." 

"  And  half  that  sum  has  been  lent  to  you." 

"  I  acknowledge  a  debt  of  5,000/." 

"  It  is  imperative  that  10,000/.  should  at  once  be  repaid." 

"I  have  no  objection  in  life." 

"  I  can  sell  my  shares  in  the  Limehouse  Bridge,"  continued 
Alaric,  "  for  6,000/.,  and  I  am  prepared  to  do  so."     >. 

*'  The  more  fool  you,"  said  Undy,  "  if  you  do  it ;  especially  as 
6,000/.  won't  pay  10,000/.,  and  as  the  same  property,  if  overheld 
another  month  or  two,  in  all  probability  will  do  so." 

"  I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  that,  and  more  than  that,"  said  Alaric. 
"  If  you  will  sell  out  4,000/.,  and  let  me  at  once  have  that 
amount,  so  as  to  make  up  the  full  sum  I  owe,  I  will  make  you  a 
free  present  of  the  remainder  of  the  debt.  Come,  Undy,  you 
cannot  but  call  that  a  good  thing.  You  will  have  pocketed  two 
thousand  pounds,  according  to  the  present  market  value  of  the 
shares,  and  that  without  the  slightest  risk." 

Undy  for  a  while  seemed  staggered  by  the  ofifer.  Whether 
it  was  Alaric's  extreme  simplicity  in  making  it,  or  his  own  good 
luck  in  receiving  it,  or  whether  by  any  possible  chance  some  all 
but  dormant  remnant  of  feeling  within  his  heart  is  touched,  we 
will  not  pretend  to  say.  But  for  a  while  he  walked  on  silent,  as 
though  wavering  in  his  resolution,  and  looking  as  if  he  wished 
to  be  somewhat  more  civil,  somewhat  less  of  the  bully,  than  he 
had  been. 

There  was  no  one  else  to  whom  Alaric  could  dare  to  open  his 
heart  on  this  subject  of  his  ward's  fortune ;  there  was  none  other 
but  this  ally  of  his  to  whom  he  could  confide,  whom  he  could 
consult.    Unpromising,  therefore,  though  Undy  was  as  a  confede- 


WESTMINSTER    HALL.  369 

rate,  Alaric,  wlfen  he  thought  he  saw  this  change  in  his  manner, 
poured  forth  at  once  the  full  tide  of  his  feelings. 

"  Undy,"  said  he,  "  pray  bear  with  me  a  while.  The  truth  is, 
I  cannot  endure  this  misery  any  longer.  I  do  not  now  want  to 
blame  any  one  but  myself.  The  thing  has  been  done,  and  it  is 
useless  now  to  talk  of  blame.  The  thing  has  been  done,  and  all 
that  now  remains  for  me  is  to  undo  it ;  to  put  this  girl's  money 
back  again,  and  get  this  horrid  weight  from  off  my  breast," 

"  Upon  my  word,  my  dear  fellow,  I  did  not  think  that  you 
took  it  in  such  a  light  as  that,"  said  Undy. 

"  I  am  miserable  about  it,"  said  Alaric.  "  It  keeps  me  awake 
all  night,  and  destroys  all  my  energy  during  the  day." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  bile,"  said  Undy.  "  You  should  give  up  fish 
for  a  few  days,  and  take  a  blue  pill  at  night." 

"  Scott,  this  money  must  be  paid  back  at  once,  or  I  shall  lose 
my  senses.  Fortune  has  so  far  favored  me  as  to  enable  me  to 
put  my  hand  at  once  on  the  larger  portion  of  it.  You  must 
let  me  have  the  remainder.  In  God's  name,  say  that  you  will 
do  so." 

Undy  Scott  unfortunately  had  not  the  power  to  do  as  he  was 
asked.  Whether  he  would  have  done  so,  had  he  had  the  power, 
may  be  doubtful.  He  was  somewhat  gravelled  for  an  answer  to 
Alaric's  earnest  supplication  and  therefore  made  none  till  the 
request  was  repeated.  "  In  God's  name  let  me  h^e  this  money," 
repeated  Alaric.  "You  will  then  have  made  two  thousand 
pounds  by  the  transaction." 

"My  dear  Tudor,"  said  he,  "your  stomach  is  out  of  order.  I 
can  see  it  as  well  as  possible  from  the  way  you  talk." 

Here  was  an  answer  for  a  man  to  get  to  the  most  earnest 
appeal  which  he  could  make  !  Here  was  comfort  for  a  wretch 
suffering  from  fear,  remorse,  and  shame,  as  Alaric  was  suffering. 
He  had  spoken  of  his  feelings  and  his  heart,  but  these  were 
regions  quite  out  of  Undy  Scott's  cognizance.  "  Take  a  blue 
pill,"  said  he,  "  and  you'll  be  as  right  as  a  trivet  in  a  couple  of 


What  was  Alaric  to  say  ?  What  could  he  say  to  a  man  who 
at  such  a  crisis  could  talk  to  him  of  blue  pills  ?  For  a  while  he 
said  nothing ;  but  the  form  of  his  face  changed,  a  darkness  came 
over  his  brow  which  Scott  had  never  before  seen  there,  the  color 
flew  from  his  face,  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  a  strange  appearance  of 
resolute  defiance  showed  itself  round  his  mouth.  Scott  began 
to  perceive  that  his  medical  advice  would  not  be  taken  in  good 
part. 

16* 


2l0  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"  Scott,"  said  he,  stopping  sliort  in  his  walk  and  taking  hold 
of  the  collar  of  his  companion's  coat,  not  loosely  by  the  button, 
but  with  a  firm  grip  which  Undy  felt  that  it  would  be  difficult 
to  shake  off — "  Scott,  you  will  find  that  I  am  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  You  have  made  a  villain  of  me.  I  can  see  no  way  to 
escape  from  my  ruin  without  your  aid;  but  by  the  living  God, 
if  I  fall,  you  shall  fall  with  me.  Tell  me  now  :  will  you  let  me 
have  the  sum  I  demand  ?  If  you  do  not,  I  will  go  to  your 
brother's  wife,  and  tell  her  what  has  become  of  her  daughter's 
money." 

"  You  may  go  to  the  devil's  wife  if  you  like  it,"  said  Undy, 
"and  tell  her  whatever  you  please." 

"  You  refuse  then  ?"  said  Alaric,  still  keeping  hold  of  Undy's 
coat." 

"  Come,  take  your  hand  off,"  said  Undy.  "  You  will  make 
me  think  your  head  is  wrong  as  well  as  your  stomach,  if  you 
go  on  like  this.  Take  your  hand  off  and  listen  to  me.  I  will 
then  explain  to  you  why  I  cannot  do  what  you  would  have  me. 
Take  your  hand  away,  I  say ;  do  you  not  see  that  people  are 
looking  at  us  ?" 

They  were  now  standing  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall — close 
under  the  steps  which  lead  to  the  Houses  of  Parliament;  and, 
as  Undy  said,  the  place  was  too  public  for  a  display  of  physical 
resentment.  Alaric  took  his  hand  away.  "  Well,"  said  he, 
"  now  tell  me  what  is  to  hinder  you  from  letting  me  have  the 
money  you  owe  me  ?" 

"  Only  this,"  said  Undy ;  "  that  every  share  I  have  in  the 
concern  is  made  over  by  way  of  security  to  old  M'Cleury,  and 
he  now  holds  them.  Till  I  have  redeemed  them,  I  have  no 
power  of  selling." 

Alaric,  when  he  heard  these  words,  could  hardly  prevent 
himself  from  faUing  in  the  middle  of  the  hall.  All  his  hopes 
were  then  over ;  he  had  no  chance  of  shaking  this  intolerable 
burden  from  his  shoulders ;  he  had  taken  the  woman's  money, 
this  money  which  had  been  intrusted  to  his  honor  and  safe- 
keeping, and  thrown  it  into  a  bottomless  gulf. 

"And  now  listen  to  me,"  said  Undy,  looking  at  his  watch. 
"  I  must  be  in  the  House  in  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  for  this  bill 
about  maxpied- women  is  on,  and  I  am  interested  in  it :  listen  to 
me  now  for  five  minutes.  All  this  that  you  have  been  saying 
is  sheer  nonsense." 

"  I  think  you'll  find  that  it  is  not  all  nonsense,"  said  Alaric. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  your  doing  anything 


WESTMINSTER    HALL.  371 

rash.  You'll  be  cautious  cnougli  I  know  when  you  come  to  be 
cool ;  especially  if  you  take  a  little  physic.  What  I  want  to 
say  is  this — Clem's  money  is  safe  enough.  I  tell  you  these 
bridge  shares  will  go  on  rising  till  the  beginning  of  next  ses- 
sion. Instead  of  selling,  what  we  should  do  is  to  buy  up  six  or 
seven  thousand  pounds  more." 

"  What,  with  Clementina's  money  ?" 

"  It's  as  well  to  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb.  Besides  your 
doing  so  is  your  only  safety.  My  brother  Val  insists  upon  hav- 
ing 250  shares." 

"  Your  brother  Yal  ?"  said  Alaric. 

"  Yes,  Val ;  and  why  shouldn't  he  ?  I  would  give  them  to 
him  if  I  could,  but  I  can't.  M'Cleury,  as  I  tell  you,  has  every 
share  of  mine  in  his  possession." 

"Your  brother  Val  wants  250  shares  !  And  does  he  expect 
me  to  give  them  to  him  ?" 

"  Well — I  rather  think  he  does.  That  is,  not  to  give  them, 
of  course ;  you  don't  suppose  he  wants  you  to  make  him  a 
present  of  money.  But  he  wants  you  to  accommodate  him  with 
the  price  of  them.  You  can  either  do  that,  or  let  him  have  so 
many  of  your  own  ;  it  will  be  as  broad  as  it  is  long;  and  he'll 
give  you  his  note  of  hand  for  the  amount." 

Now,  it  was  well  known  among  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Scott  family,  that  the  note  of  hand  of  the  Honourable  Captain 
Val  was  not  worth  the  paper  on  which  it  was  written. 

Alaric  was  so  astonished  at  this  monstrous  request,  coming  as 
it  did  after  such  a  conversation,  that  he  did  not  well  know  how 
to  take  it. 

Was  Undy  mad,  or  was  he  in  joke  ?  What  man  in  his  senses 
would  think  of  lending  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds  to  Val 
Scott!     "I  suppose  you  are  in  jest,"  said  he,  somewhat  bitterly. 

"  I  never  was  more  in  earnest  in  my  life,"  said  Undy.  "  I'll 
just  explain  how  the  matter  is ;  and  as  you  are  sharp  enough, 
you'll  see  at  once  that  you  had  better  oblige  him.  Val,  you 
know,  is  always  hard  up ;  he  can't  touch  a  shilling  of  that 
woman's  money,  and  just  at  present  he  has  none  of  his  own. 
So  he  came  to  me  this  morning  to  raise  the  wind." 

"  And  you  are  kind  enough  to  pass  him  on  to  me." 

"  Listen  a  moment.  I  did  not  do  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
never  lend  money  to  Val.  It's  a  principle  with  me  not  to  do  so, 
and  he  knows  it." 

"  Then  just  tell  him  that  my  principles  in  this  respect  are 
identical  with  your  own," 


372  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

"  That's  all  very  well,  and  you  may  tell  him  so  yourself,  if  you 
like  it ;  but  hear  first  of  all  what  his  arguments  are.  Of  course 
I  told  him  I  could  do  nothing  for  him.  '  But,'  said  he,  '  you 
can  get  Tudor  to  do  it.'  1  told  him,  of  course,  that  I  could  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  '  Oh!'  said  Val,  '  I  know  the  game  you 
are  both  playing.  I  know  all  about  Clem's  money.'  Val,  you 
know,  never  says  much.  He  was  playing  pool  at  the  time,  at 
the  club  ;  but  he  came  back  after  his  stroke,  and  whispered  to 
me — '  You  and  Tudor  must  let  me  have  250  of  those  shares,  and 
then  it'll  be  all  right.'  Now,  Val  you  know  is  a  most  deter- 
mined fellow." 

Alaric,  when  he  heard  this,  looked  up  into  his  companion's 
face  to  see  whether  he  was  talking  to  the  Evil  One  himself.  Oh, 
what  a  net  of  ruin  was  closing  round  him ! — how  inextricable 
were  the  toils  into  which  he  had  fallen ! 

"  After  all,"  continued  Undy,  "  what  he  asks  is  not  much,  and 
I  really  think  you  should  do  it  for  him.  He  is  quite  willing  to 
give  you  his  assistance  at  Strathbogy,  and  he  is  entitled  to  some 
accommodation." 

"  Some  accommodation  !  "  repeated  Alaric,  almost  lost  in  the 
consideration  of  his  own  misery. 

"  Yes  ;  I  really  think  he  is.  And,  Tudor,  you  may  be  sure  of 
'this,  you  know ;  you  will  be  quite  safe  with  him.  Val  is  the 
very  soul  of  honor.  Do  this  for  him,  and  you'll  hear  no  more 
about  it.  You  may  be  quite  sure  he'll  ask  for  nothing  further, 
and  that  he'll  never  say  a  word  to  annoy  you.  He's  devilish 
honorable  is  Val ;  no  man  can  be  more  so ;  though,  perhaps, 
you  wouldn't  think  it." 

"  Devilish  honorable ! "  said  Alaric.  "  Only  he  would  like  to 
have  a  bribe." 

"  A  bribe  !  "  said  Scott.  "  Come,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  you 
make  an  ass  of  yourself.  Val  is  like  the  rest  of  us ;  when  money 
is  going,  he  likes  to  have  a  share  of  it.  If  you  come  to  that, 
every  man  who  is  paid  either  for  talking  or  for  not  talking  is 
bribed." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  heard  of  a  much  clearer  case  of  a 
bribe  than  this  which  you  now  demand  for  your  brother." 

"  Bribe  or  no  bribe,"  said  Undy,  looking  at  his  watch,  •'  I 
strongly  advise  you  to  do  for  him  what  he  asks ;  it  will  be 
better  for  all  of  us.  And  let  me  give  you  another  piece  of 
advice  :  never  use  hard  words  among  friends.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  Mary  Janes  which  Manylodes  brought  for  you  in  his 
pocket  to  the  hotel  at  Tavistock  ? "     Here  Alaric  turned  as  pale 


WESTMESrSTER    HALL.  373 

as  a  spectre.  "  Don't  talk  of  bribes,  my  dear  fellow.  We  are 
all  of  us  giving  and  taking  bribes  from  our  cradles  to  our  graves  ; 
but  men  of  the  world  generally  call  them  by  some  prettier 
names.  Now,  if  you  are  not  desirous  to  throw  your  cards  up 
altogether,  get  these  shares  for  Val,  and  let  him  or  me  have 
them  to-morrow  morning."  And  so  saying  TJndy  disappeared 
into  the  House,  through  the  side  door  out  of  the  hall,  which  is 
appropriated  to  the  use  of  honorable  members. 

And  then  Alaric  was  left  alone.  He  had  never  hitherto 
realised  the  true  facts  of  the  position  in  which  he  had  placed 
himself;  but  now  he  did  so.  He  was  in  the  hands  of  these 
men,  these  miscreants,  these  devils  ;  he  was  completely  at  their 
mercy,  and  he  already  felt  that  they  were  as  devoid  of  mercy  as 
they  were  of  justice.  A  cold  sweat  broke  out  all  over  him,  and 
he  continued  walking  up  and  down  the  hall,  ignorant  as  to  where 
he  was,  and  what  he  was  doing,  almost  thoughtless,  stunned  as 
it  were  by  his  misery,  and  the  conviction  that  he  was  a  ruined 
man.  He  had  remained  there  an  hour  after  Undy  had  left  him, 
before  he  roused  himself  sufficiently  to  leave  the  hall  and  think 
of  returning  home.  It  was  then  seven  o'clock,  and  he  remem- 
bered that  he  had  asked  his  cousin  to  dine  with  him.  He  got 
into  a  cab,  therefore,  and  desired  to  be  driven  home. 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  On  one  point  he  instantly  made  up  his 
mind.  He  would  not  give  one  shilling  to  Captain  Val ;  he 
would  not  advance  another  shilling  to  Undy  ;  and  he  would  at 
once  sell  out  his  own  shares,  and  make  such  immediate  restitu- 
tion as  might  now  be  in  his  power.  The  mention  of  Many- 
lodes  and  the  mining  shares  had  come  home  to  him  with  frightful 
reality,  and  nearly  stunned  him.  What  right,  indeed,  had  he 
to  talk  of  bribes  with  scorn — he  who  so  early  in  his  own  life 
had  allowed  himself  to  be  bought  ?  How  could  he  condemn 
the  itching  palm  of  such  a  one  as  Val  Scott — he  who  had  been 
so  ready  to  open  his  own  when  he  had  been  tempted  by  no 
want,  by  no  poverty  ? 

He  would  give  nothing  to  Captain  Val  to  bribe  him  to 
silence.  He  knew  that  if  he  did  so,  he  would  be  a  slave  for  ever. 
The  appetite  of  such  a  shark  as  that,  when  once  he  has  tasted 
blood,  is  unappeasable.  There  is  nothing  so  ruinous  as  buying 
the  silence  of  a  rogue  who  has  a  secret.  What  you  buy  you 
nQver  possess  ;  and  the  price  that  is  once  paid  must  be  repaid 
again  and  again,  as  often  as  the  rogue  may  demand  it.  Any 
alternative  must  be  better  than  this. 
...And  jet  what  other  alternative  was  there  ?     He  did  not  doubt 


374  THE   THREE   CLEEKS. 

that  Val,  wlien  disappointed  of  his  prey,  would  reveal  whatever 
he  might  know  to  his  wife,  or  to  his  stepson.  Then  there  would 
be  nothing  for  Alaric  but  confession  and  ruin.  And  how  could 
he  believe  what  Undy  Scott  had  told  him  ?  who  else  could  have 
given  information  against  him  but  Undy  himself  ?  who  else  could 
have  put  up  so  heavily  stupid  a  man  as  Captain  Scott  to  make 
such  a  demand  ?  Was  it  not  clear  that  his  own  colleague,  his 
own  partner,  his  own  intimate  associate,  Undy  Scott  himself, 
was  positively  working  out  his  ruin  ?  Where  were  now  his 
high  hopes,  where  now  his  seat  in  Parliament,  his  authority  at 
the  board,  his  proud  name,  his  soaring  ambition,  his  constant 
watchword  ?  Excelsior — ah  me — no  !  no  longer  excelsior ;  but 
he  thought  of  the  cells  of  Newgate,  of  convict  prisons,  and 
then  of  his  young  wife  and  of  his  baby. 

He  made  an  effort  to  assume  his  ordinary  demeanor,  and 
partially  succeeded  He  went  at  once  up  to  his  drawing-room, 
and  there  he  found  Charley  and  Gertrude  waiting  dinner  for  him ; 
luckily  he  had  no  other  guests. 

"Are  you  ill,  Alaric?"  said  Gertrude,  directly  she  saw 
him. 

"  Dl !  No,"  said  he ;  "  only  fagged,  dearest ;  fagged  and 
worried,  and  badgered  and  bored ;  but,  thank  God,  not  ill ;"  and 
he  endeavored  to  put  on  his  usual  face,  and  speak  in  his  usual 
tone.  "  I  have  kept  you  waiting  most  unmercifully  for  your 
dinner,  Charley ;  but  then  I  know  you  navvies  always  lunch  on 
mutton  chops." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  particularly  in  a  hurry,"  said  Charley  ;  "  but 
I  deny  the  lunch.  This  has  been  a  bad  season  for  mutton  chops 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Somerset  House  ;  somehow  they  have 
not  grown  this  year." 

Alaric  ran  up  to  prepare  for  dinner,  and  his  wife  followed 
him. 

"  Oh  !  Alaric,"  said  she,  "  you  are  so  pale  :  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  Do  tell  me,"  and  she  put  her  arm  through  his,  took  hold 
of  his  hand,  and  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  The  matter  I  nothing  is  the  matter — a  man  can't  always  be 
grinning ;"  and  he  gently  shook  her  off,  and  walked  through 
their  bedroom  to  his  own  dressing-room.  Having  entered  it 
he  shut  the  door,  and  then  sitting  down  bowed  his  head  upon  a 
small  table  and  buried  it  in  his  hands.  All  the  world  seemed 
to  go  round  and  round  with  him ;  he  was  giddy,  and  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  stand. 

Gertrude  paused  a  moment  in  the  bedroom  to  consider,  and 


WESTMINSTER    HALL.  375 

then  followed  liim.  "  What  is  it  you  want  ?"  said  he,  as  soon 
as  he  heard  the  handle  turn — "  do  leave  me  alone  for  one  mo- 
ment. I  am  fagged  with  the  heat,  and  I  want  one  minute's 
rest." 

"  Oh,  Alaric,  I  see  you  are  ill,"  said  she.  "  For  God's  sake 
do  not  send  me  from  you,"  and  coming  into  the  room  she  knelt 
down  beside  his  chair.  "  I  know  you  are  suflfering,  Alaric  ;  do 
let  me  do  something  for  you." 

He  longed  to  tell  her  everything.  He  panted  to  share  his 
sorrows  with  one  other  bosom ;  to  have  one  near  him  to  whom 
he  could  speak  openly  of  everything,  to  have  one  counsellor  in 
his  trouble.  In  that  moment  he  all  but  resolved  to  disclose 
everything  to  her,  but  at  last  he  found  that  he  could  not  do 
it.  Charley  was  there  waiting  for  his  dinner ;  and  were  he  now 
to  tell  his  secret  to  his  wife,  neither  of  them,  neither  he  nor  she, 
would  be  able  to  act  the  host  or  hostess.  If  done  at  all,  it 
could  not  at  any  rate  be  done  at  the  present  moment. 

"  I  am  better  now,"  said  he,  giving  a  long  and  deep  sigh ; 
and  then  he  threw  his  arms  round  his  wife  and  passionately 
embraced  her.  "  My  own  angel,  my  best,  best  love,  how  much 
too  good  or  much  too  noble  you  are  for  such  a  hilfeband  as 
I  am !" 

"I  wish  I  could  be  good  enough  for  you,"  she  replied,  as  she 
began  to  arrange  his  thing's  for  dressing.  "  You  are  so  tired, 
dearest;  wash  your  hands  and  come  down — don't  trouble 
yourself  to  dress  this  evening ;  unless,  indeed,  you  are  going- 
out  again." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he,  "  if  there  be  a  soul  on  earth  that  has  not 
in  it  a  spark  of  what  is  good  or  generous,  it  is  the  soul  of  Undy 
Scott ;"  and  so  saying  he  began  the  operations  of  his  toilet. 

Now  Gertrude  had  never  liked  Undy  Scott ;  she  had  attri- 
buted to  him  whatever  faults  her  husband  might  have  as  a  hus- 
band ;  and  at  the  present  moment  she  was  not  inclined  to  fight 
for  any  of  the  Scott  family. 

"  He  is  a  very  worldly  man,  I  think,"  said  she. 

"Worldly! — no — but  hellish;"  said  Alaric;  "hellish,  and 
damnable,  and  fiendish." 

"  Oh,  Alaric,  what  has  he  done  ?" 

"  Never  mind  ;  I  cannot  tell  you  ;  he  has  done  nothing.  It 
is  not  that  he  has  done  anything,  or  can  do  anything  to  me — 
but  his  heart — but  never  mind — I  wish — I  wish  I  had  never 
seen  him." 

"  Alaric,  if  it  be  about  money  tell  me  the  worst,  and  I'll  bear 


376  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

it  without  a  murmur.  As  long  as  you  are  well  I  care  for 
nothing  else — have  you  given  up  your  place?" 

"  No,  dearest,  no  ;  I  can  keep  my  place.  It  is  nothing  about 
that.  I  have  lost  no  money  ;  I  have  rather  made  money.  It  is 
the  ingratitude  of  that  man  which  almost  kills  me.  But  come, 
dearest,  we  will  go  down  to  Charley.  And  Gertrude,  mind  this, 
be  quite  civil  to  Mrs.  Val  at  present.  AVe  will  break  from  the 
whole  set  before  long ;  but  in  the  mean  time  I  would  have  you 
be  very  civil  to  Mrs.  Val." 

And  so  they  went  down  to  dinner,  and  Alaric,  after  taking  a 
glass  of  wine,  played  his  part  almost  as  though  he  had  no  weight 
upon  his  soul.  After  dinner  he  drank  freely,  and  as  he  drank 
his  courage  rose.  "  Why  should  I  tell  her?"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  went  to  bed.  "  The  chances  are  that  all  will  yet  go 
well." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


On  th^  next  morning  Alaric  went  to  his  oflGice  without  speak- 
ing further  as  to  the  trouble  on  his  mind,  and  endeavored  to 
comfort  himself  as  best  he  might  as  he  walked  down  to  his 
office.  Then  he  had  also  to  decide  whether  it  would  better  suit 
his  purpose  to  sell  out  at  once  and  pay  up  every  shilling  that 
he  could,  or  whether  he  would  hold  on,  and  hope  that  Undy's 
predictions  would  be  fulfilled,  and  that  the  bridge  shares  would 
go  on  rising  till  they  would  sell  for  all  that  was  required  of  him. 

Unfortunate  man !  what  would  he  have  given  now  to  change 
his  position  for  Norman's  single  clerkship,  or  even  for  Charley's 
comparative  poverty ! 

Gertrude  stayed  within  all  day ;  but  not  all  day  in  solitude. 
About  four  in  the  afternoon  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Val  called,  and  with 
her  came  her  daughter  Clem,  now  Madame  Jaquetanape,  and 
the  two  Miss  Neverbends.  M.  Jaquetanape  had  since  his  mar- 
riage made  himself  very  agreeable  to  his  honorable  mother-in- 
law,  so  much  so  that  he  now  occupied  the  place  in  her  good 
graces  which  TJndy  had  formerly  filled,  and  w^hich  after  Undy's 
reign  had  fallen  to  Alaric's  lot.  Mrs.  Val  liked  to  have  about 
her  some  confidential  gentleman ;  and  as  she  never  thought  of 
placing  her  confidence  in  her  husband,  she  was  prone  to  select 
first  one  man  and  then  another  as  her  taste  and  interest  dictated. 
Immediately  after  their  marriage,  Victoire  and  Clem  had  con- 


MRS.  val's  new  carriage.  377 

sented  to  join  lionsekecping  with  tlieir  parent.  Notliing  could 
be  more  pleasant  than  this ;  their  income  was  unembarrassed, 
and  Mrs.  V^al,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  was  able  to  set  up  her 
carriage.  Among  the  effects  arising  from  this  cause,  the  female 
Neverbends,  who  had  lately  been  Worshippers  of  Gertrude, 
veered  round  in  their  idolatry,  and  paid  their  vows  before  Mrs. 
Val's  new  yellow  panels.  In  this  new  carriage  now  came  the 
four  ladies  to  pay  a  morning  visit  to  Mrs.  Tudor.  It  was  won- 
derful to  see  into  how  small  dimensions  the  Miss  Neverbends 
had  contrived  to  pack,  not  themselves,  but  their  crinoline. 

As  has  before  been  hinted,  Gertrude  did  not  love  Mrs.  Val ; 
nor  did  she  love  Clem  the  danseuse ;  nor  did  she  specially  love 
the  Miss  Neverbends.  They  were  all  of  a  class  essentially 
different  from  that  in  which  she  had  been  brought  up  ;  and, 
moreover,  Mrs.  Yal  was  not  content  to  allow  Gertrude  into  her 
set  without  ruling  over  her,  or  at  any  rate  patronising  hei'. 
Gertrude  had  borne  with  them  all  for  her  husband's  sake  ;  and 
was  contented  to  do  so  yet  for  a  while  longer,  but  she  thought 
in  her  heart  that  she  would  be  able  to  draw  some  consolation 
from  her  husband's  misfortune  if  it  should  be  the  means  of 
freeing  her  from  Mrs.  Yal. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Val,  throwing  herself  down  into  a 
sofa  as  though  she  were  exhausted — "  what  a  dreadful  journey 
it  is  to  you  up  here !  How  those  poor  horses  will  stand  it  this 
weather  I  don't  know,  but  it  nearly  kills  me ;  it  does  indeed." 
The  Tudors,  as  has  been  said,  lived  in  one  of  the  quiet  streets 
of  Westbournia,  not  exactly  looking  into  Hyde  Park,  but  very 
near  to  it ;  Mrs.  Val,  on  the  other  hand,  lived  in  Ebury  Street, 
Pimlico  ;  her  house  was  much  inferior  to  that  of  the  Tudors  ; 
it  was  small,  ill  built,  and  afflicted  with  all  the  evils  which  bad 
drainage  and  bad  ventilation  can  produce ;  but  then  it  was 
reckoned  to  be  within  the  precincts  of  Belgravia,  and  was  only 
five  minutes'  walk  from  Buckingham  Palace.  Mrs.  Val,  there- 
fore, had  fair  ground  for  twitting  her  dear  friend  with  living  so 
far  away  from  the  limits  of  fashion.  "  You  really  must  come 
down  somewhat  nearer  to  the  world ;  indeed  you  must,  my 
dear,"  said  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Val. 

"  We  are  thinking  of  moving ;  but  then  we  are  talking  of 
going  to  St.  John's  Wood,  or  Islington,"  said  Gertrude  wickedly. 

"  IsHngton !"  said  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Val,  nearly  fainting. 

"  Is  not  Islington  and  St.  Giles'  the  same  place  ?"  asked  the 
innocent  Clem,  with  some  malice,  however,  to  counterbalance 
her  innocence. 


378  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

"  0  no !"  said  Lactimel.  "  St.  Giles'  is  where  the  poor 
wretched  starving  Irish  dwell.  Their  utter  misery  in  the 
middle  of  this  rich  metropolis  is  a  crying  disgrace  to  the  Prime 
Minister."  Poor  Badger,  how  much  he  has  to  bear  !  "  Only 
think,"  continued  Lactimel,  with  a  soft  pathetic  drawl,  "  they 
have  none  to  feed  them,  none  to  clothe  them,  none  to  do  for 
them !" 

"  It  is  a  great  question,"  said  Ugolina,  "  whether  promis- 
cuous charity  is  a  blessing  or  a  curse.  It  is  probably  the 
greatest  question  of  the  age.     I  myself  am  inclined  to  think — " 

"But,  ma,"  said  Madame  Jaquetanape,  "Mrs.  Tudor  doesn't 
really  mean  that  she  is  going  to  live  at  St.  Giles',  does  she  ?" 

"I  said  Islington,"  said  Gertrude.  "We  may  go  to  St. 
Giles'  next,  perhaps."  Had  she  known  all,  how  dreadful  would 
such  jokes  have  been  to  her  ! 

Mrs.  Val  saw  that  she  was  being  quizzed,  and,  not  liking  it, 
changed  the  conversation.  "Ugolina,"  said  she,  "might  I 
trouble  you  to  look  out  of  the  front  window  ?  I  hope  those 
stupid  men  of  mine  are  not  letting  the  horses  stand  still.  They 
were  so  warm  coming  here,  that  they  will  be  sure  to  catch 
cold."  The  stupid  men,  however,  were  round  the  corner  at  the 
public-house,  and  Ugolina  could  only  report  that  as  she  did  not 
see  them  she  supposed  the  horses  were  walking  about. 

"And  so,"  said  Mrs.  Val,  "  Mr.  Tudor  is  thinking  of  resign- 
ing his  place  at  the  Civil  Service  Board,  and  standing  for  that 
borough  of  Lord  Gaberlunzie's,  in  Aberdeenshire  ?" 

"  I  really  cannot  say,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  but  I  believe  he  has 
some  idea  of  going  into  Parliament.  I  rather  believe  he  will 
continue  to  hold  his  place." 

"  Oh,  that  I  know  to  be  impossible!  I  was  told  that  by  a 
gentleman  who  has  been  much  longer  in  the  service  than  Mr. 
Tudor,  and  who  understands  all  its  bearings."  She  here  alluded 
to  Fidus  Neverbend. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  said  Gertrude.  "  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Tudor 
has  quite  made  up  his  mind  yet." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I'll  tell  you  fairly  what  I  think  about  it. 
You  know  the  regard  I  have  for  you  and  Mr.  Tudor.  He  too 
is  Clementina's  trustee  ;  that  is  to  say,  her  fortune  is  partly  con- 
signed to  his  care ;  so  I  cannot  but  have  a  very  great  interest 
about  him,  and  be  very  anxious  that  he  should  do  well.  Now, 
my  dear,  I'll  tell  you  fairly  what  I  think,  and  what  all  the  world 
is  saying.  He  ought  not  to  think  of  Parliament.  He  ought 
not,  indeed,  my  dear.     I  speak  for  your  sake,  and  your  child's. 


MKS.    VAL'S   NEW   CARRIAGE.  379 

He  is  not  a  man  of  fortune,  and  he  ought  not  to  think  of  Par- 
liament. He  has  a  very  fine  situation,  and  he  really  should  be 
contented." 

This  was  intolerable  to  Gertrude.  She  felt  that  she  must  put 
Mrs.  Val  down,  and  yet  she  hardly  knew  how  to  do  it  without 
being  absolutely  rude ;  whereas  her  husband  had  specially  begged 
her  to  be  civil  to  this  woman  at  present.  "  Oh,"  said  she,  with 
a  slight  smile,  "Mr.  Tudor  will  be  able  to  take  care  of  himself; 
you  will  find,  I  hope,  that  there  is  no  cause  for  uneasiness." 

"  Well,  I  hope  not,  I  am  sure  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Val, 
looking  very  grave.  "  But  I  tell  you  fairly  that  the  confidence 
which  we  all  have  in  your  husband  will  be  much  shaken  if  he 
does  anything  rash.  He  should  think  of  this,  you  know.  He 
has  no  private  fortune  to  back  him  ;  we  must  remember  that." 

Gertrude  became  very  red  in  the  face ;  but  she  would  not 
trust  herself  to  answer  Mrs.  Val  at  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

"  It  makes  such  a  difference,  when  one  has  got  no  private 
fortune,"  said  Madame  Jaquetanape,  the  heiress.  "  Does  it  not, 
Lactimel  ?" 

"  Oh,  indeed  it  does,"  said  Lactimel.  "  I  wish  every  one  had 
a  private  fortune  ;  it  would  be  so  nice,  wouldn't  it  ?" 

"  There  would  be  very  little  poetry  in  the  world  if  you  were 
to  banish  poverty,"  said  Ugolina.  '*  Poverty  may  be  called  the 
parent  of  poetry.  Look  at  Milton,  how  poor  he  was ;  and  Ho- 
mer, he  begged  his  bread." 

"  But  Lord  ^yron  was  not  a  beggar,"  said  Clem,  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  I  do  hope  Mr.  Tudor  will  think  of  what  he  is  doing,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Val.  "  It  is  certainly  most  good-natured  and  most 
disinterested  of  my  dear  father-in-law.  Lord  Gaberlunzie,  to  place 
his  borough  at  Mr.  Tudor's  disposal.  It  is  just  like  him,  dear 
good  old  nobleman.  But,  my  dear,  it  will  be  a  thousand  pities 
if  Mr.  Tudor  should  be  led  on  by  his  lordship's  kindness  to  bring 
about  his  own  ruin." 

Mrs.  Val  had  once  in  her  life  seen  his  good-natured  lordship. 
Soon  after  her  marriage  she  had  insisted  on  Captain  Val  taking 
her  down  to  the  family  mansion.  She  stayed  there  one  night, 
and  then  left  it,  and  since  that  had  shown  no  further  desire  to 
visit  Cauldkail  Castle.  She  did  not  the  less  delight  to  talk  about 
her  dear  good  father-in-law,  the  lord.  Why  should  she  give 
his  son  Val  board  and  lodging,  but  that  she  might  be  enabled  to 
do  so  ?  She  was  not  the  woman  to  buy  an  article,  and  not 
make  of  it  all  the  use  of  which  it  might  be  capable. 


380  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

"  Pray  do  not  concern  yourself,"  said  Gertrude.  "  I  can 
assure  you  Mr.  Tudor  will  manage  very  well  for  himself — but 
should  any  misfortune  happen  to  him  he  will  not,  you  may  be 
certain,  attribute  it  to  Lord  Gaberlunzie." 

"  I  am  told  that  Sir  Gregory  is  most  opposed  to  it,"  continued 
Mrs.  Val.  "  I  heard  that  from  Mr.  Neverbend,  who  is  altogether 
in  Sir  Gregory's  confidence, — did  not  you,  my  dears  ?"  and  she 
turned  round  to  the  sisters  of  Fidus  for  confirmarion. 

"  I  heard  my  brother  say  that  as  Mr.  Tudor's  office  is  not 
parliamentary  but  permanent,  and  as  he  has  to  attend  from  ten 
till  four " 

"  Alaric  has  not  to  attend  from  ten  till  four,"  said  Gertrude, 
who  could  not  endure  the  idea  that  her  husband  should  be 
ranked  with  common  clerks,  like  Fidus  Neverbend. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know,"  said  Lactimel,  meekly.  "Perhaps  Fi- 
dus only  meant  that  as  it  is  one  of  those  offices  where  the  peo- 
ple have  something  to  do,  the  commissioners  couldn't  be  in  their 
offices  and  in  Parliament  at  the  same  time." 

"  I  did  understand,"  said  Ugolina,  "  that  Sir  Gregory  Hard- 
lines  had  put  his  veto  upon  it ;  but  I  must  confess  that  it  is  a 
subject  which  I  have  not  sufficiently  studied  to  enable  me ." 

"  It's  1200Z  a-year,  isn't  it  ?"  asked  the  bride. 

"  Twelve  hundred  pounds  a  year,"  said  her  mother — "  a  very 
serious  consideration  when  'there  is  no  private  fortune  to  back  it, 
on  either  side.     Now  if  it  were  Yictoire " 

"  He  couldn't  sit  in  Parliament,  ma,  because  he's  an  alien — 
only  for  that  I  shouldn't  think  of  his  doing  anything  else." 

"Perhaps  that  may  be  altered  before  long,"  said  Lactimel, 
graciously. 

"  If  Jews  are  to  be  admitted,"  said  Ugolina,  "  who  certainly 
belong  to  an  alien  nation ;  a  nation  expressly  set  apart  and  sepa- 
rated from  all  people — a  peculiar  nation  distinct  from  all  others, 
I  for  one  cannot  discern " 

What  Ugolina  could  or  could  not  discern  about  the  Jews  was 
communicated  perhaps  to  Madame  Jaquetanape  or  to  Lactimel, 
but  not  to  Gertrude  or  to  Mrs.  Val ;  for  the  latter  taking  Ger- 
trude apart  into  a  corner  as  it  were  of  the  sofa,  began  confiden- 
tially to  repeat  to  her  her  fears  about  her  husband. 

"  I  see,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  that  you  don't  like  my  speaking 
about  it." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Gertrude,  "  I  am  very  indifi'erent  about 
it.  But  would  it  not  be  better  if  you  said  what  you  have  to  say 
to  my  husband  ? " 


MES.    VAL'S   NEW    CAKllIAGE.  381 

"  I  intend  to  do  so.  I  intend  to  do  that  also.  But  I  know 
that  a  wife  ought  to  have  influence  over  her  husband,  and  I 
beheve  that  you  have  influence  over  yours." 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  Gertrude,  who  was  determined  to  con- 
tradict Mrs.  Val  in  everything. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Val,  who,  among  all  her 
excellent  acquirements,  did  not  possess  that  specially  excellent 
one  of  understanding  repartee.  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it, 
and  I  shall  certainly  speak  to  him  the  more  seriously  on  that 
account.  I  think  I  have  some  influence  over  him  :  at  any  rate  I 
ought  to  have." 

"  I  dare  say  you  have,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  Alaric  always  says 
that  no  experience  is  worth  anything  that  is  not  obtained  by 
years." 

Mrs.  Yal  at  least  undepstood  this,  and  continued  her  lecture 
with  some  additional  severity.  "  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  glad  he 
has  so  much  wisdom.  But  what  I  was  going  to  say  is  this  :  you 
know  how  much  we  have  at  stake  with  Mr.  Tudor — what  a  very 
large  sum  of  Clementina's  money  lies  in  his  hands.  Now  I  really 
should  not  have  consented  to  the  arrangement  had  I  thought  it 
possible  that  Mr.  Tudor  would  have  given  up  his  income  with 
the  idea  of  going  into  Parliament.  It  wouldn't  have  been  right 
or  prudent  of  me  to  have  done  so.  I  have  the  greatest  opinion  of 
your  husband's  talents  and  judgment,  or  I  should  not  of  course  have 
entrusted  him  with  the  management  of  Clementina's  fortune ; 
but  I  really  shall  think  it  right  to  make  some  change  if  this 
project  of  his  goes  on." 

"  Why,  what  is  it  you  suspect  ?  "  said  Gertrude.  "  Do  you 
think  that  Mr.  Tudor  intends  to  use  your  daughter's  income  if 
he  loses  a  portion  of  his  own  ?  I  never  heard  such  a  thing  in 
my  life." 

"  Hush  !  my  dear- — gently — I  would  not  for  worlds  let  Cle- 
mentina hear  a  word  of  this  ;  it  might  disturb  her  young  happi- 
ness. She  is  so  charmed  with  her  husband;  her  married  life  is 
so  fortunate ;  Victoire  is  so — so — so  everything  that  we  all 
wish,  that  I  would  not  for  the  world  breathe  in  her  hearing  a 
shadow  of  a  suspicion." 

"  Good  gracious !  Mrs.  Scott,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Suspicion  ! 
— what  suspicion  ?  Do  you  suspect  my  husband  of  robbing  you  ?  " 
Oh,  Gertrude ;  poor  Gertrude !  she  was  doomed  to  know  it  all 
before  long. 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Val ;  "  nothing  of  the  kind,  I  assure 
you.     Of  course  we  suspect  nothing  of  the  sort.     But  one  docfi 


382  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

like  to  have  one's  money  in  safe  hands.  Of  course  Mr.  Tudor 
wouldn't  have  been  chosen  as  trustee,  if  he  hadn't  had  a  good 
income  of  his  own :  and  look  here,  my  dear," — and  Mrs.  Val 
whispered  very  confidentially, — "Mr.  Tudor  we  all  know  is 
greatly  concerned  in  this  bridge  that  the  committee  is  sitting 
about ;  and  he  and  my  brother-in-law,  Undecimus,  are  always 
dealing  in  shares.  Gentlemen  do,  I  know  ;  and  therefore  I  don't 
say  that  there  is  anything  against  it.  But  considering  all,  I  hope 
Mr.  Tudor  won't  take  it  ill  if  we  propose  to  change  our  trustee." 

"  I  am  very  certain  he  will  not,"  said  Gertrude.  "  It  is  a 
laborious  business,  and  he  will  be  glad  enough  to  be  rid  of  it. 
When  he  was  asked  to  accept  it,  he  thought  it  would  be  ill- 
natured  to  refuse  ;  I  am  certain,  however,  he  will  be  very  glad 
to  give  up  the  work  to  any  other  person  wj»o  may  be  appointed. 
I  will  be  sure  to  tell  him  this  evenin^what  you  have  said." 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Val, 
"  I  shall  see  him  myself  before  long." 

"  It  will  be  no  trouble,"  said  Gertrude,  very  indignantly,  for 
she  was  very  angry,  and  had,  as  she  thought,  great  cause  for 
anger.  *'  I  shall  certainly  think  it  my  duty  to  do  so,  after  what 
has  passed.  Of  course  you  will  now  take  steps  to  relieve  him 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"  You  have  taken  me  up  a  great  deal  too  quick,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Val.     "  I  did  not  intend " 

"  Oh — one  can't  be  too  quick  on  such  a  matter  as  this,"  said 
Gertrude.  "  When  confidence  is  once  lost  between  two  persons, 
it  is  better  that  the  connection  which  has  grown  out  of  confi- 
dence should  be  put  an  end  to  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Lost  confidence !     I  said  nothing  about  lost  confidence  !" 

"  Alaric  will  so  understand  it,  I  am  quite  sure ;  at  any  rate, 
I  will  tell  him  what  you  have  said.  Suspicion  indeed  !  who  has 
dared  to  suspect  him  of  anything  not  honest  or  upright  ?" 

Gertrude's  eyes  flashed  with  anger  as  she  vindicated  her 
absent  lord.  Mrs.  Val  had  been  speaking  with  bated  breath,  so 
that  no  one  had  heard  her  but  she  to  whom  she  was  speaking ; 
but  Gertrude  had  been  unable  so  to  confine  her  answers,  and  as 
she  made  her  last  veij^lj,  Madame  Jaquetanape  and  the  Misses 
Neverbend  were  all  ears. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  Mrs.  Val.  "Upon  my  word,  my 
dear,  it  is  amusing  to  hear  you  take  it  up.  However,  I  assure 
you  I  meant  nothing  but  what  was  kind  and  friendly.  Come, 
Clementina,  we  have  been  sitting  here  a  most  unconscionable 
time.     Will  you  allow  me,  my  dear,  to  ring  for  my  carriage?" 


MRS.  val's  new  carriage.  383 

*'  Mamma,"  said  Clem,  "  have  you  asked  Mrs.  Tudor  to  our 
little  dance?" 

"  No,  my  dear ;  I  Lave  left  that  for  you  to  do.  It's  your 
party,  you  know, — but  I  sincerely  hope  Mrs.  Tudor  will  come." 

"  0  yes,"  said  Clementina,  the  tongue  of  whose  eloquence  was 
now  loosened.  "You  must  come,  Mrs.  Tudor;  indeed  you 
must.  It  will  be  so  charming ;  just  a  few  nice  people,  you  know, 
and  nothing  more." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gertrude;  "but  I  never  dance  now."  She 
had  inwardly  resolved  that  nothing  should  ever  induce  her  again 
to  enter  Mrs.  Val's  house. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  come,"  said  Clementina.  "It  will  be  so 
charming.  We  only  mean  to  dance  one  kind  of  dance, — that 
new  thing  they  have  just  brought  over  from  Spain — the  Contra- 
bandista.  It  is  a  polka  step,  only  very  quick,  and  you  take 
every  other  turn  by  yourself;  so  you  have  to  take  your  partner 
up  and  let  him  go  as  quick  as  possible.  You  don't  know  how 
charming  it  is,  and  it  will  be  all  the  rage.  We  are  to  have  the 
music  out  in  the  street,  just  as  they  have  in  Spain." 

"  It  would  be  much  too  difficult  for  me,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  It  is  difficult,"  said  the  enthusiastic  Clem ;  "  but  Victoire 
gives  us  lessons  in  it  every  day,  from  twelve  to  two, — doesn't 
he,  Ugolina  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  have  time  to  go  to  school,"  said 
Gertrude. 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  take  much  time — six  or  seven  or  eight  lessons 
will  do  it  pretty  well.  I  have  almost  learnt  it  already,  and 
Ugolina  is  coming  on  very  fast.  Lactimel  is  not  quite  so  per- 
fect. She  has  learnt  the  step,  but  she  cannot  quite  bring  herself 
to  let  Victoire  go  quick  enough.  Do  come,  and  bring  Mr.  Tudor 
with  you." 

"  As  he  has  not  to  attend  from  ten  till  four,  he  could  come  and 
take  lessons  too,"  said  Lactimel,  who,  now  that  she  was  no  longer 
a  hanger-on  of  Gertrude's,  could  afford  to  have  her  little 
revenge. 

"  That  would  be  delightful,"  said  Clem.  "  Mr.  Charles  Tudor 
does  come  in  sometimes  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  think  he  does 
it  almost  as  well  as  Victoire." 

Gertrude,  however,  would  go  neither  to  the  rehearsals  nor  to 
the  finished  performance  ;  and  as  Mrs.  Val's  men  had  by  this 
time  been  induced  to  leave  the  beershop,  the  whole  party  went 
away,  leaving  Gertrude  to  her  meditations. 


384  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

TICKLISH    STOCK. 

Alaric  returned  from  his  office  worn  and  almost  as  wretched 
as  he  had  heen  on  the  day  before.  He  had  spent  a  miserable 
day.  In  the  morning  Sir  Gregory  had  asked  him  whether  he 
had  finally  made  up  his  mind  to  address  the  electors  of  Strath- 
bo2;"y.  "  No,  not  finally,"  said  Alaric,  "  but  I  think  I  shall 
do^so." 

"  Then  I  must  tell  you,  Tudor,"  said  Sir  Gregory,  speaking 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,  "that  you  will  not  have  my 
countenance.  I  cannot  but  think  also  that  you  are  behaving 
W'ith  ingratitude."  Alaric  prepared  to  make  some  petulant 
answer,  but  Sir  Gregory,  in  the  mean  time,  left  the  room. 

Every  one  was  falling  away  from  him.  He  felt  inclined  to 
rush  after  Sir  Gregory,  and  promise  to  be  guided  in  this  matter 
solely  by  him,  but  his  pride  prevented  him  :  though  he  was  no 
longer  sanguine  and  confident  as  he  had  been  a  week  ago,  still 
his  ambition  was  high.  "  Those  who  play  brag  must  brag  it 
it  out,  or  they  will  lose  their  money."  This  had  been  said  by 
XJndy;  but  it  was  not  the  less  true  on  that  account.  Alaric 
felt  that  he  was  playing  brag,  and  that  his  only  game  was  to 
brag  it  out. 

He  walked  home  slowly  through  the  Parks.  His  office  and 
house  were  so  circumstanced  that,  though  they  were  some  two 
miles  distant,  he  could  walk  from  one  to  the  other  almost  with- 
out taking  his  feet  off"  the  grass.  This  had  been  the  cause  of 
great  enjoyment  to  him ;  but  now  he  sauntered  on  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  staring  straight  before  him,  with  fixed 
eyes,  going  by  his  accustomed  route,  but  never  thinking  for  a 
moment  where  he  was.  The  time  was  gone  when  he  could 
watch  the  gambols  of  children,  smile  at  the  courtships  of  nur- 
sery-maids, watch  the  changes  in  the  dark  foliage  of  the  trees, 
and  bend  from  his  direct  path  hither  and  thither  to  catch  the 
eff'ects  of  distant  buildings,  and  make  for  his  eye  half-rural  land- 
scapes in  the  middle  of  the  metropolis.  No  landscapes  had 
beauty  for  him  now ;  the  gambols  even  of  his  own  baby  were 
unattractive  to  him  ;  leaves  might  bud  forth  and  flourish  and 
fall  without  his  notice.  How  went  the  share-market?  that  was 
the  only  question  that  had  an  interest  for  him.     The  dallyings 


TICKLISH   STOCK.  385 

of  Capel  Court  were  the  only  courtships  that  lie  now  cared  to 
watch. 

And  with  what  a  terribly  eager  eye  had  he  now  to  watch 
thera  !  If  his  shares  went  up  quickly,  at  once,  with  an  unpre- 
cedented success,  he  might  possibly  be  saved.     That  was  all. 

But  if  they  did  not !     Such  was  the  phase  of  life  under 

which  at  the  present  moment  it  behoved  him  to  exist. 

And  then,  when  he  reached  his  home,  how  was  he  welcomed? 
With  all  the  fond  love  which  a  loving  wife  can  show ;  so  much 
at  least  was  his ;  but  before  he  had  felt  the  sweetness  of  her 
caresses,  before  he  had  acknowledged  how  great  was  the  trea- 
sure that  he  possessed,  forth  from  her  eager  lips  had  come  the 
whole  tale  of  Mrs.  Val's  impertinence. 

"  I  will  never  see  her  again,  Alaric !  never ;  she  talked  of  her 
daughter's  money,  and  said  something  of  suspicion !"  Suspi- 
cion !  Gertrude's  eye  again  flashed  fire  with  anger ;  and  she 
all  but  stamped  with  her  little  foot  upon  the  ground.  Suspicion ! 
suspect  him,  her  husband,  the  choice  of  her  heart,  her  Alaric, 
the  human  god  whom  she  worshipped!  suspect  him  of  robbery! 
her  lord,  her  heart,  her  soul,  the  strong  staflf  on  which  she 
leaned  so  securely,  with  such  true  feminine  confidence !  Sus- 
pect him  of  common  vile  dishonesty ! — "  You  will  never  ask  me 
to  see  her  again — will  you,  Alaric?" 

What  was  he  to  say  to  her  ?  how  was  he  to  bear  this  ?  His 
heart  yearned  to  tell  her  all ;  he  longed  for  the  luxury  of  having 
one  bosom  to  whom  he  could  intrust  his  misery,  his  slight 
remaining  hope.  But  how  could  he  himself,  at  one  blow,  by 
one  word,  destroy  the  high  and  polished  shaft  on  which  she 
whom  he  loved  had  placed  him?  He  could  not  do  it.  He 
would  sufi"er  by  himself;  hope  by  himself,  cease  to  hope  by 
himself,  and  endure  all,  till  either  his  suff"erings  or  his  hopes 
should  be  over. 

He  had  to  pretend  that  he  was  indignant  at  Mrs.  Val's  inter- 
ference ;  he  had  to  counterfeit  the  feeling  of  outraged  honor, 
which  was  so  natural  to  Gertrude.  This  he  failed  to  do  well. 
Had  he  been  truly  honest — had  that  woman's  suspicion  really 
done  him  injustice — he  would  have  received  his  wife's  tidings 
with  grave  displeasure,  and  have  simply  resolved  to  acquit  him- 
self as  soon  as  possible  of  the  disagreeable  trust  which  had  been 
reposed  in  him.  But  such  was  not  now  his  conduct.  He  con- 
tented himself  by  calling  Mrs.  Val  names,  and  pretended  to 
laugh  at  her  displeasure. 

"  But  you  will  give  up  this  trust,  won't  you  3"  said  Gertrude. 

17 


386  THE  THEEE    CLERKS. 

"IwiHthink  about  it,"  said  he.  "  Before  I  do  anything  I 
must  consult  old  Figgs.  Things  of  that  kind  can't  be  put  out 
of  their  course  by  the  spleen  of  an  old  woman  like  Mrs.  Val." 

"  Oh,  Alaric,  I  do  so  wish  you  had  had  nothing  to  do  with 
these  Scotts !" 

"  So  do  I,"  said  he,  bitterly ;  "  I  hate  them — but,  Ger- 
trude, don't  talk  about  them  now ;  my  head  aches,  and  I  am 
tired." 

He  sat  at  home  the  whole  evening ;  and  though  he  was  by 
no  means  gay,  and  hardly  affectionate  in  his  demeanor  to  her, 
yet  she  could  not  but  feel  that  some  good  effect  had  sprung 
from  his  recent  dislike  to  the  Scotts,  since  it  kept  him  at  home 
with  her.  Lately  he  had  generally  spent  his  evenings  at  his 
club.  She  longed  to  speak  to  him  of  his  future  career,  of  his 
proposed  seat  in  Parliament,  of  his  office-work  ;  but  he  gave 
her  no  encouragement  to  speak  of  such  things,  and  as  he 
pleaded  that  he  was  ill  she  left  him  in  quiet  on  his  sofa. 

On  the  next  morning  he  again  went  to  his  office,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  morning  a  note  was  brought  to  him  from  Undy. 
It  ran  as  follows  : — 


"My  dear  Tudor. 


"  Is  Val  to  have   the   shares  ?     Let  me  have  a  line  by 
the  bearer. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"U.  S." 

To  this  he  replied  by  making  an  appointment  to  meet  Undy 
before  dinner  at  his  own  office. 

At  the  time  fixed  Undy  came,  and  was  shown  by  the  sole 
remaining  messenger  into  Alaric's  private  room.  The  two 
shook  hands  together  in  their  accustomed  way.  Undy  smiled 
good-humoredly,  as  he  always  did ;  and  Alaric  maintained  his 
usual  composed  and  uncommunicative  look. 

"  Well,"  said  Undy,  sitting  down,  "  how  about  these 
shares  ?" 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  said  Alaric,  "because  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  with  some  earnestness." 

"  I  am  quite  in  earnest  myself,"  said  Undy ;  "  and  so,  by 
G — ,  is  Val.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  more  in  earnest — nor  yet 
apparently  more  hard  up.  I  hope  you  have  the  shares  ready,  or 
else  a  cheque  for  the  amount." 

"  Look  here,  Undy  ;  if  my  doing  this  were  the  only  means 


TICKLISH   STOCK.  387 

of  saving  both  you  and  me  from  rotting  in  gaol,  by  the  Creator 
that  made  me  I  would  not  do  it !" 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  will  have  much  effect  upon  me,  one 
way  or  the  other,"  said  Undy,  coolly ;  "  but  it  seems  to  me  to 
be  the  only  way  that  can  save  yourself  from  some  such  fate. 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  the  clauses  are  of  this  new  bill  about 
trust  property  ?" 

"  I  know  the  clauses  well  enough  ;  I  know  my  own  position ; 
and  I  know  yours  also." 

"  D —  your  impudence  !"  said  Undy ;  "  how  do  you  dare  to 
league  me  with  your  villany  ?  Have  I  been  the  girl's  trustee  ? 
have  I  drawn,  or  could  I  have  drawn,  a  shilling  of  her  money  ? 
I  tell  you,  Tudor,  you  are  in  the  wrong  box.  You  have  one 
way  of  escape,  and  one  only.  I  don't  want  to  ruin  you;  I'll 
save  you  if  I  can ;  I  think  you  have  treated  the  girl  in  a  most 
shameful  way,  nevertheless  I'll  save  you  if  I  can ;  but  mark 
this,  if  this  money  be  not  at  once  produced  I  cannot  save 
you." 

Alaric  felt  that  he  was  covered  with  cold  perspiration.  His 
courage  did  not  fail  him  ;  he  would  willingly  have  taken  Undy 
by  the  throat,  could  his  doing  so  have  done  himself  or  his  cause 
any  good ;  but  he  felt  that  he  was  nearly  overset  by  the  cool 
deep  villany  of  his  companion. 

"  I  have  treated  the  girl  badly — very  badly,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause  ;  "  whether  or  no  you  have  done  so  too  I  leave 
to  your  own  conscience,  if  you  have  a  conscience.  I  do  not 
now  mean  to  accuse  you  ;  but  you  may  know  this  for  certain — 
my  present  anxiety  is  to  restore  to  her  that  which  I  have  taken 
from  her ;  and  for  no  earthly  consideration — not  to  save  my 
own  wife — will  I  increase  the  deficiency." 

"  Why,  man,  what  nonsense  you  talk — as  if  I  did  not  know 
all  the  time  that  you  have  your  pocket  full  of  these  shares." 

"  Whatever  I  have,  I  hold  for  her.  If  I  could  succeed  in 
getting  out  of  your  hands  enough  to  make  up  the  full  sum  that 
I  owe  her " 

"  You  will  succeed  in  getting  nothing  from  me.  W'hen  I 
borrowed  5,000/.  from  you,  it  was  not  understood  that  I  was  to 
be  called  upon  for  the  money  in  three  or  four  months'  time." 

"  Now  look  here,  Scott ;  you  have  threatened  me  with  rui;i 
and  a  prison,  and  I  will  not  say  but  your  threats  may  possibly 
prove  true.  It  may  be  that  I  am  ruined  ;  but  if  I  fall,  you  shall 
share  my  fall." 

"  That's  false,"  said  Undy.     "  I  am  free  to  hold  my  head 


388  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

before  the  world,  wliicli  you  are  not.     I  liave  done  nothing  to 
bring  me  to  shame." 

"Nothing  to  bring  you  to  shame,  and  yet  you  would  now 
have  me  give  you  a  further  portion  of  this  girl's  money !" 

"  Nothing  !  I  care  nothing  about  the  girl's  money.  I  have 
not  touched  it,  nor  do  I  want  to  touch  it.  I  bring  you  a 
message  from  my  bi-other ;  you  have  ample  means  of  your 
own  to  comply  with  his  request." 

"  Then  tell  your  brother,"  said  Alaric,  now  losing  all  control 
over  his  temper — "  tell  your  brother,  if  indeed  he  have  any 
part  in  this  villany — tell  your  brother  that  if  it  were  to  save  me 
from  the  gallows,  he  should  not  have  a  shilling.  I  have  done 
very  badly  in  this  matter ;  I  have  acted  shamefully,  and  I  am 
ashamed,  but " 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  hear  none  of  your  rhapsodies,"  said  Undy. 
"  If  you  will  not  now  do  what  I  ask  you,  I  may  as  well  go,  and 
you  may  take  the  consequences;"  and  he  lifted  his  hat  as 
though  preparing  to  take  his  leave. 

"  But  you  shall  hear  me,"  said  Alaric,  rising  quickly  from 
his  seat,  and  standing  between  Undy  and  the  door.  Undy  very 
coolly  walked  to  the  bell  and  rang  it.  "  I  have  much  to 
answer  for,"  continued  Alaric,  "  but  I  would  not  have  your  sin 
on  my  soul,  I  would  not  be  as  black  as  you  are,  though,  by 
being  so,  I  could  save  myself  with  certainty  from  all  earthly 
punishment." 

As  he  finished,  the  messenger  opened  the  door.  "  Show  Mr. 
Scott  out,"  said  Alaric. 

"  By,  by,"  said  Undy.  "  You  will  probably  hear  from  Mrs. 
Val  and  her  daughter  to-morrow,"  and  so  saying  he  walked 
jauntily  along  the  passage,  and  went  jauntily  to  his  dinner  at 
his  club.  It  was  part  of  his  philosophy  that  nothing  should 
disturb  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  or  interfere  with  his  animal 
comforts.  He  was  at  the  present  moment  over  head  and  ears  in 
debt ;  he  was  playing  a  game  which,  in  all  human  probability, 
would  end  in  his  ruin  ;  the  ground  was  sinking  beneath  his 
feet  on  every  side ;  and  yet  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  his  dinner. 
Alaric  could  not  make  such  use  of  his  philosoplj^^Uniiy^ Scott 
might  be  the  worse  man  of  the  two,  but  he  was  the  better 
philosopher. 

"Not  on  the  next  day,  or  on  the  next,  did  Alaric  hear  from 
Mrs.  Val,  but  on  the  following  Monday  he  got  a  note  from  her 
begging  him  to  call  in  Ebury  Street.  She  underscored  every 
line  of  it  once  or  twice,   and  added,  in  a  postscript,  that  he 


TICKLISH  STOCK.  389 

Avonkl,  slie  was  sure^  at  once  acknowledge  the  necessity  of  her 
request^  as  she  2vished  to  communicate  with  him  on  the  subject  of 
her  daughter's  fortune. 

Alaric  immediately  sent  an  answer  to  her  by  a  messenger. 
"  My  dear  Mrs.  Scott,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  sorry  that  an 
engagement  prevents  my  going  to  you  this  evening  ;  but,  as  I 
judge  by  your  letter,  and  by  what  I  have  heard  from  Gertrude, 
that  you  are  anxious  about  this  trust  arrangement,  I  will  call  at 
ten  to-morrow  morning  on  my  way  to  the  office." 

Having  written  and  dispatched  this,  he  sat  for  an  hour  lean- 
ing with  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  his  hands  clasped,  looking 
with  apparent  earnestness  at  the  rows  of  books  which  stood 
inverted  before  him,  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  as  to  what  step 
he  should  now  take. 

Not  that  he  sat  an  hour  undisturbed.  Every  five  minutes 
some  one  would  come  knocking  at  the  door ;  the  name  of  some 
aspirant  to  the  Civil  Service  would  be  brought  to  him,  or  the 
card  of  some  influential  gentleman  desirous  of  having  a  little 
job  perpetrated  in  favor  of  his  own  peculiarly  interesting,  but 
perhaps  not  very  highly-educated  young  candidate.  But  on 
this  morning  Alaric  would  see  no  one  ;  to  every  such  intruder 
he  sent  a  reply  that  he  was  too  deeply  engaged  at  the  present 
moment  to  see  any  one.  After  one  he  would  be  at  liberty,  &c., 
&c. 

And  so  he  sat  and  looked  at  the  books;  but  he  could  in 
nowise  make  up  his  mind.  He  could  in  nowise  bring  himself 
even  to  try  to  make  up  his  mind — that  is,  to  make  any  true 
effort  towards  doing  so.  His  thoughts  would  run  off  from 
him,  not  into  the  happy  outer  world,  but  into  a  multitude  of 
noisy,  unpleasant  paths,  all  intimately  connected  with  his 
present  misery,  but  none  of  which  led  him  at  all  towards  the 
conclusions  al  which  he  would  fain  arrive.  He  kept  on 
reflecting  what  Sir  Gregory  would  think  when  he  heard  of  it ; 
what  all  those  clerks  would  say  at  the  Weights  and  Measures, 
among  whom  he  had  held  his  head  so  high ;  what  shouts  there 
would  be  among  the  navvies  and  other  low  pariahs  of  the 
service  ;  how  Harry  Norman  would  exult — (but  he  did  not  yet 
know  Harry  Norman)  ; — how  the  Woodwards  would  weep ; 
how.  Gertrude — and  then  as  he  thought  of  that  he  bowed  his 
head,  for  he  could  no  longer  endure  the  open  light  of  day.  At 
one  o'clock  he  was  no  nearer  to  any  decision  than  he  had  been 
when  he  reached  his  office. 

At  three  he  put  himself  into  a  cab,  and  was  taken  to  the 


390  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

city.  Oh,  the  city,  the  weary  city,  where  men  go  daily  to 
look  for  money,  but  find  none^  where  every  heart  is  eaten  up 
by  an  accursed  famishing  after  gold;  where  dark,  gloomy 
banks  come  thick  on  each  other,  like  the  black,  ugly  aper- 
tures to  the  realms  below  in  a  mining  district,  each  of  them 
a  separate  little  pit-mouth  into  hell.  Alaric  went  into  the  city, 
and  found  that  the  shares  were  still  rising.  That  imperturbable 
witness  was  still  in  the  chair  at  the  committee,  and  men  said 
that  he  was  disgusting  the  members  by  the  impregnable  endur- 
ance of  his  hostility.  A  man  who  could  answer  2250  questions 
without  admitting  anything  must  be  a  liar  !  Such  a  one  could 
convince  no  one  !  And  so  the  shares  went  on  rising,  rising, 
and  rising,  and  Messrs.  Blocks,  Piles,  and  Cofferdam  were 
buying  up  every  share;  either  doing  that  openly — or  else 
selling  on  the  sly. 

Alaric  found  that  he  could  at  once  realise  7500/.  Were  he 
to  do  this,  there  would  be  at  any  rate  seven-eighths  of  his 
ward's  fortune  secure. 

Might  he  not,  in  such  case,  calculate  that  even  Mrs.  Yal's 
heart  would  be  softened,  and  that  time  would  be  allowed  him 
to  make  up  the  small  remainder  ?  Oh,  but  in  such  case  he 
must  tell  Mrs.  Val ;  and  could  he  calculate  on  her  forbearance  ? 
Might  he  not  calculate  with  much  more  certainty  on  her  love 
of  triumphing  ?  Would  he  not  be  her  slave  if  she  had  the 
keeping  of  his  secret  ?  And  why  should  he  run  so  terrible  a 
risk  of  destroying  himself?  Why  should  he  confide  in  Mrs. 
Val,  and  deprive  himself  of  the  power  of  ever  holding  up  his 
head  again,  when,  possibly,  he  might  still  run  out  his  course 
with  full  sails,  and  bring  his  vessel  into  port,  giving  no  know- 
ledge to  the  world  of  the  perilous  state  in  which  she  had  been 
thus  ploughing  the  deep  !  He  need  not,  at  any  rate,  tell  every- 
thing to  Mrs.  Val  at  his  coming  visit  on  the  morrow. 

He  consulted  his  broker  with  his  easiest  air  of  common 
concern  as  to  his  money  ;  and  the  broker  gav^e  him  a  dubious 
opinion.  "They  may  go  a  little  higher,  sir;  indeed  I  think 
they  will.  But  they  are  ticklish  stock,  sir,— ^umiQmmon  tick- 
lish. I  should  not  like  to  hold  many  myself,  sir."  Alaric 
knew  that  the  man  was  right ;  they  were  ticklish  stock ; 
but  nevertheless  he  made  up  his  mind  to  hold  on  a  little 
longer. 

He  then  got  into  another  cab  and  went  back  to  his  office  ; 
and  as  he  went  he  began  to  bethink  himself  to  whom  of  all 
his  friends  he  might  apply  for  such  a  loan  as  would  enable  him 


TICKLISH   STOCK.  391 

to  make  up  this  sum  of  money,  if  he  sold  his  shares  on  the 
morrow.  Captain  Cuttwater  was  good  for  1000/.,  but  he 
knew  that  he  could  not  get  more  from  him.  It  would  be  bad 
borrowing,  he  thought,  from  Sir  Gregory.  Intimate  as  he  had 
been  with  that  great  man,  he  knew  nothing  of  his  money 
concerns ;  but  he  had  always  heard  that  Sir  Gregory  was  a 
close  man.  Sir  Warwick,  his  other  colleague,  was  in  easy 
circumstances  ;  but  then  he  had  never  been  intimate  with  Sir 
AYarwick.  Norman  —  ah,  if  he  had  known  Norman  now, 
Norman  would  have  pulled  him  through  ;  but  hope  in  that 
quarter  there  was,  of  course,  none.  Norman  was  gone,  and 
Norman's  place  had  been  filled  by  TJndy  Scott!  Wliat  could 
be  done  with  Undy  Scott  he  had  already  tried.  Fidus  Never- 
bend !  he  had  a  little  money  saved ;  but  Fidus  was  not  the 
man  to  do  anything  without  security.  He,  he,  Alaric  Tudor,  he, 
whose  credit  had  stood,  did  stand,  so  high,  did  not  know  where 
to  borrow,  how  to  raise  a  thousand  pounds ;  and  yet  he  felt  that 
had  he  not  wanted  it  so  sorely,  he  could  have  gotten  it  easily. 

He  was  in  a  bad  state  for  work  when  he  got  back  to  the  office 
on  that  day.  He  was  flurried,  ill  at  ease,  wretched,  all  but  dis- 
tracted ;  nevertheless  he  w^ent  rigidly  to  it,  and  remained  there 
till  late  in  the  evening.  He  was  a  man  generally  blessed  with 
excellent  health  ;  but  now^  he  suddenly  found  himself  ill,  and  all 
but  unable  to  accomplish  the  task  which  he  had  prescribed  to 
himself.  His  head  was  heavy  and  his  eyes  weak,  and  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  think  of  the  papers  which  lay  before  him. 

Then  at  last  he  went  home,  and  had  another  sad  and  solitary 
walk  across  the  Parks,  during  which  he  vainly  tried  to  rally 
himself  again,  and  collect  his  energies  for  the  work  which  he 
had  to  do.  It  was  in  such  emergencies  as  this  that  he  knew 
that  it  most  behoved  a  man  to  fall  back  upon  what  manliness 
there  might  be  within  him  ;  now  w'as  the  time  for  him  to  be 
true  to  himself ;  he  had  often  felt  proud  of  his  own  energy  of 
purpose ;  and  now  was  the  opportunity  for  him  to  use  such 
energy,  if  his  pride  in  this  respect  had  not  been  all  in  vain. 

Such  were  the  lessons  with  which  he  endeavored  to  strengthen 
himself,  but  it  was  in  vain ;  he  could  not  feel  courageous — he 
could  not  feel  hopeful — he  could  not  do  other  than  despair. 
When  he  got  home,  he  again  prostrated  himself,  again  declared 
himself  ill,  again  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  answered  the 
affection  of  his  wife  by  saying  that  a  man  could  not  always  be 
cheerful,  could  not  always  laugh.  Gertrude,  though  she  was 
very  far  indeed  from  guessing  the  truth,  felt  that  something 


392  THE  THEEE  CLEEKS. 

extraordinary  was  the  matter,  and  knew  that  her  husband's 
uneasiness  was  connected  with  the  Scotts. 

He  came  down  to  dinner,  and  though  he  ate  but  little,  he 
drank  glass  after  glass  of  sherry.  He  thus  gave  himself  courage 
to  go  out  in  the  evening  and  face  the  world  at  his  club.  He 
found  XJndy  there  as  he  expected,  but  he  had  no  conversation 
with  him,  though  they  did  not  absolutely  cut  each  other. 
Alaric  fancied  that  men  stared  at  him,  and  sat  apart  by  himself, 
afraid  to  stand  up  among  talking  circles,  or  to  put  himself  for- 
ward as  it  was  his  wont  to  do.  He  himself  avoided  other  men, 
and  then  felt  that  others  were  avoiding  him.  He  took  up  one 
evening  paper  after  another,  pretending  to  read  them,  but  hardly 
noticing  a  word  that  came  beneath  his  eye ;  at  last,  however,  a 
name  struck  him  which  riveted  his  attention,  and  he  read  the 
following  paragraph,  which  was  among  many  others,  containing 
information  as  to  the  coming  elections. 

"  Strathbogy. — We  hear  that  Lord  Gaberlunzie's  eldest  son 
will  retire  from  this  borough,  and  that  his  place  will  be  filled 
by  his  brother,  the  Honorable  Captain  Valentine  Scott.  The 
family  have  been  so  long  connected  with  Strathbogy  by  ties  of 
friendship  and  near  neighborhood,  and  the  mutual  alliance  has 
been  so  much  to  the  taste  of  both  parties,  that  no  severance 
need  be  anticipated." 

Alaric's  first  emotion  was  one  of  anger  at  the  whole  Scott 
tribe ;  and  his  first  resolve  was  to  go  down  to  Strathbogy  and 
beat  that  inanimate  fool.  Captain  Val,  on  his  own  ground ;  but 
he  was  not  long  in  reflecting  that,  under  his  present  circum- 
stances, it  would  be  madness  in  him  to  bring  his  name  promi- 
nently forward  in  any  quarrel  with  the  Scott  family.  This 
disappointment  he  might  at  any  rate  bear ;  it  Avould  be  well  for 
him  if  this  were  all.  He  put  the  paper  down  with  an  aflPected 
air  of  easy  composure,  and  walked  home  through  the  glaring- 
gas-lights,  still  trying  to  think — still  trying,  but  in  vain,  to  come 
to  some  definite  resolve. 

And  then  on  the  following  morning  he  went  ofi"  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Val.  He  had  as  yet  told  Gertrude  nothing.  When  she 
asked  him  what  made  him  start  so  early,  he  merely  replied  that 
he  had  business  to  do  on  his  road.  As  he  went,  he  had  consi- 
derable doubt  whether  or  no  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  break 
his  word  to  Mrs.  Val,  and  not  go  near  her  at  all.  In  such 
event  he  might  be  sure  that  she  would  at  once  go  to  work  and 
do  her  worst ;  but,  nevertheless,  he  would  gain  a  day,  or  proba- 
bly two,  and  one  or  two  days  might  do  all  that  he  required ; 


TICKLISH   STOCK.  393 

■whereas  lie  could  not  see  Mrs.  Yal  without  giving  her  some 
explanation,  which  if  false  would  be  discovered  to  be  false,  and 
if  true  would  be  self-condemnatory.  He  again,  however,  failed 
to  decide,  and  at  last  knocked  at  Mrs.  Val's  door,  merely  because 
he  found  himself  there. 

He  was  shown  up  into  the  drawing-room,  and  found,  of 
course,  Mrs.  Val  seated  on  a  sofa;  and  he  also  found,  which  was 
not  at  all  of  course.  Captain  Val  on  a  chair  on  one  side  of  the 
table,  and  M.  Victoire  Jaquetanape  on  the  other.  Mrs.  Yal 
shook  hands  with  him  much  in  her  usual  way,  but  still  with  an 
air  of  importance  in  her  face ;  the  Frenchman  was  delighted  to 
see  M.  Tudere,  and  the  Honorable  Val  got  up  from  his  chair, 
said  "  How  do  ?"  and  then  sat  down  again. 

"  I  requested  you  to  call,  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  Mrs.  Val,  opening 
her  tale  in  a  most  ceremonious  manner,  "  because  we  all  think 
it  necessary  to  know  somewhat  more  than  has  yet  been  told  to 
us  of  the  manner  in  which  my  daughter's  money  has  been  in- 
vested." 

Captain  Val  wiped  his  moustache  with  the  middle  finger  of 
his  right  hand,  by  way  of  saying  that  he  quite  assented  to  his 
wife's  proposition  ;  and  Victoire  remarked  that  "Madame  was  a 
leetle  anxious,  just  a  leetle  anxious  ;  not  that  anything  could  be 
wrong  with  M.  Tudere,  but  because  she  was  one  excellent 
mamma." 

"  I  thought  you  knew,  Mrs.  Scott,"  said  Alaric,  "  that  your 
daughter's  money  is  in  the  funds." 

"  Then  I  may  understand  clearly  that  none  of  the  amount  so 
invested  has  been  sold  out  or  otherwise  appropriated  by  you," 
said  Mrs.  Val. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  inquire  what  has  given  rise  to  these 
questions  just  at  the  present  moment?"  asked  Alaric. 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Val;  "rumors  have  reached  my 
husband — rumors  which,  I  am  happy  to  say,  I  do  not  believe 
— that  my  daughter's  money  has  been  used  for  purposes  of 
speculation."  Whereupon  Captain  Val  again  wiped  his  upper 
lip,  but  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  speak. 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask  Captain  Scott  from  what  source  such 
rumors  have  reached  him  ?" 

"Ah — ha — what  source?  d lies,  very  likely;  d lies, 

I  dare  say  ;  but  people  do  talk — eh — you  know" — so  much  the 
eloquent  embryo  member  for  Strathbogy  vouchsafed. 

"  And  therefore,  Mr.  Tudor,  you  mustn't  be  surprised  that  we 
should  ask  you  this  question." 

17^ 


394  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

"  It  is  one  simple,  simple  question,"  said  Yictoire,  "  and  if  M. 
Tudere  will  say  that  it  is  all  right,  I,  for  myself,  will  be  satis- 
fied." The  amiable  Victoire,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  still  quite 
satisfied  to  leave  his  wife's  income  in  Alaric's  hands,  and  would 
not  have  been  at  all  satisfied  to  remove  it  to  the  hands  of  his 
respected  step-papa-in-law,  or  even  his  admired  mamma-in- 
law. 

"  When  I  undertook  this  trust,"  said  Alaric,  "  which  I  did 
with  considerable  hesitation,  I  certainly  did  not  expect  to  be 
subjected  to  any  such  cross-examination  as  this.  I  consider 
such  questions  as  insults,  and  therefore  I  shall  refuse  to  answer 
them.  You,  Mrs.  Scott,  have  of  course  a  right  to  look  after 
your  daughter's  interests,  as  has  M.  Jaquetanape  to  look  after 
those  of  his  wife ;  but  I  will  not  acknowledge  that  Captain 
Scott  has  any  such  right  whatsoever,  nor  can  I  think  that  his 
conduct  in  this  matter  is  disinterested" — and  as  he  spoke  he 
looked  at  Captain  Val,  but  he  might  just  as  well  have  looked  at 
the  door  ;  Captain  Val  only  wiped  his  moustache  with  his  finger 
once  more.  "  My  answer  to  your  inquiries,  Mrs.  Scott,  is  this 
— I  shall  not  condescend  to  go  into  any  details  as  to  Madame 
Jaquetanape's  fortune  with  any  oiipe  but  my  co-trustee.  I  shall, 
however,  on  Saturday  next,  be  ready  to  give  up  my  trust  to  any 
other  person  who  may  be  legally  appointed  to  receive  it,  and 
will  then  produce  all  the  property  that  has  been  intrusted  to 
my  keeping  :"  and  so  saying,  Alaric  got  up  and  took  his  hat  as 
though  to  depart. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Tudor,  that  you  will  not  an- 
swer my  question  ?"  said  Mrs.  Scott. 

*'  I  mean  to  say,  most  positively,  that  I  will  answer  no  ques- 
tions," said  Alaric. 

"  Oh,   confound,   not  do   at  all ;  d ,"  said   the  captain. 

"  The  girl's  money  all  gone,  and  you  won't  answer  questions !" 

"  No  !"  shouted  Alaric,  walking  across  the  room  till  he  close- 
ly confronted  the  captain.  "  No — no — I  will  answ^er  no  ques- 
tions that  may  be  asked  in  your  hearing.  But  that  your  wife's 
presence  protects  you,  I  would  kick  you  down  your  own  stairs 
before  me." 

Captain  Val  retreated  a  step — he  could  retreat  no  more — 
and  wiped  his  moustache  with  both  hands  at  once.  Mrs.  Val 
screamed.  Victoire  took  hold  of  the  back  of  a  chair,  as  though 
he  thought  it  well  that  he  should  be  armed  in  the  general 
battle  that  was  to  ensue;  and  Alaric,  without  further  speech, 
walked  out  of  the  room,  and  went  away  to  his  oflSce. 


TRIBULATION.  395 

"  So  you  have  given  np  Strathbogy  ?"  said  Sir  Gregory  to 
him,  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

"  I  think  I  have,"  said  Alaric ;  '*  considering  all  things,  I 
believe  it  will  be  the  best  for  me  to  do  so." 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Sir  Gregory — "  not  a  doubt  of  it, 
my  dear  fellow  ;"  and  then  Sir  Gregory  began  to  evince,  by  the 
cordiality  of  his  oflScial  confidence,  that  he  had  fully  taken 
Alaric  back  into  his  good  graces.  It  was  nothing  to  him  that 
Strathbogy  had  given  up  Alaric  instead  of  Alaric  giving  up 
Strathbogy.  He  was  sufficiently  pleased  at  knowing  that  the 
danger  of  his  being  supplanted  by  his  own  junior  w^as  over. 

And  then  Alaric  again  went  into  the  weary  city,  again  made 
inquiries  about  his  shares,  and  again  returned  to  his  office,  and 
thence  to  his  home. 

But  on  his  return  to  his  office,  he  found  lying  on  his  table  a 
note  in  Undy's  handwriting,  but  not  signed,  in  which  he  was 
informed  that  things  would  yet  be  well,  if  the  required  shares 
should  be  forthcoming  on  the  following  day.  J^ 

He  crumpled  the  note  tight  in  his  hand,  and  was  about  to 
ffing  it  among  the  waste  paper,  but  in  a  moment  he  thought 
better  of  it,  and  smoothing  the  paper  straight,  he  folded  it,  and 
laid  it  carefully  on  his  desk. 

That  day,  on  his  visit  into  the  city,  he  had  found  that  the 
bridge  shares  had  fallen  to  less  than  the  value  of  their  original 
purchase  money  ;  and  that  evening  he  told  Gertrude  everything. 
The  author  does  not  dare  to  describe  the  tellinor. 


CHAPTER   XXXVH. 

TRIBULATIOX. 


We  must  now  return  for  a  short  while  to  Surbiton  Cottage. 
It  was  not  so  gay  a  place  as  it  once  had  been  ;  merry  laughter 
was  not  so  often  heard  among  the  shrubbery  walks,  nor  was  a 
boat  to  be  seen  so  often  glancing  in  and  out  between  the  lawn 
and  the  adjacent  island.  The  Cottage  had  become  a  demure, 
staid  abode,  of  which  Captain  Cuttwater  w^as  in  general  the 
most  vivacious  inmate  ;  and  yet  there  was  soon  to  be  marrying, 
and  giving  in  marriage. 

Linda's  wedding-day  had  twice  been  fixed.  That  first- 
named  had  been  postponed  in  consequence  of  the  serious  illness 
of  Norman's  elder  brother.  The  life  of  that  brother  had  been 
very  diflferent  in  its  course  from  Harry's ;  it  had  been  dissi- 


396  THE  THREE  CLEEKS. 

pated  at  college  in  riotous  living,  and  had  since  been  stained 
with  debauchery  during  the  career  of  his  early  manhood  in 
London.  The  consequence  had  been  that  his  health  had  been 
broken  down,  and  he  was  now  tottering  to  an  early  grave. 

Cuthbert  Norman  was  found  to  be  so  ill  when  the  day  first 
named  for  Linda's  marriage  approached,  that  it  had  been 
thought  absolutely  necessary  to  postpone  the  ceremony.  What 
amount  of  consolation  Mrs.  Woodward  might  have  received 
irom  the  knowledge  that  her  daughter,  by  this  young  man's 
decease,  would  become  Mrs.  Norman  of  Normans-grove,  we 
need  not  inquire ;  but  such  consolation,  if  it  existed  at  all,  did 
not  tend  to  dispel  the  feeling  of  sombre  disappointment  which 
such  delay  was  sure  to  produce.  The  heir,  however,  rallied, 
and  another  day,  early  in  August,  was  fixed. 

Katie,  the  while,  was  still  an  invalid  ;  and,  as  such,  puzzled 
all  the  experience  of  that  very  experienced  medical  gentleman, 
who  has  the  best  aristocratic  practice  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Hampton  Court.  He,  and  the  London  physician,  agreed  that 
her  lungs  were  not  affected  ;  but  yet  she  would  not  get  well. 
The  color  would  not  come  to  her  cheeks,  the  flesh  would  not 
return  to  her  arms,  nor  the  spirit  of  olden  days  shine  forth  in 
her  eyes.  She  did  not  keep  her  bed,  or  confine  herself  to  her 
room,  but  she  went  about  the  house  with  a  slow,  noiseless, 
gentle  tread,  so  unlike  the  step  of  that  Katie  whom  we  once 
knew. 

But  that  which  was  a  mystery  to  the  experienced  medical 
gentleman,  was  no  mystery  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Woodward 
well  knew  why  her  child  was  no  longer  rosy,  plump,  and 
dehonnaire.  As  she  watched  her  Katie  move  about  so  softly,  as 
she  saw  her  constant  attempt  to  smile  whenever  her  mother's 
eye  was  on  her,  that  mother's  heart  almost  gave  way  ;  she  almost 
brought  herself  to  own  that  she  would  rather  see  her  darling 
the-wijfe  of  an  idle,  ruined  spendthrift,  than  watch  her  thus  drift- 
ing away  t(r"^^aTi  early  grave.  These  days  were  by  no  means 
happy  days  for  Mrs.  Woodward. 

When  that  July  day  was  fixed  for  Linda's  marriage,  certain 
invitations  were  sent  out  to  bid  the  family  friends  to  the  wed- 
ding. These  calls  were  not  so  numerous  as  they  had  been  when 
Gertrude  became  a  bride.  No  Sir  Gregory  was  to  come  down 
from  town,  no  gallant  speech-makers  from  London  clubs  were  to 
be  gathered  there,  to  wake  the  echoes  of  the  opposite  shore  with 
matrimonial  wit.  Mrs.  Woodward  could  not  bear  that  her 
daughter  should  be  married  altogether,  as  it  were,  in  the  dark  ; 


TEIBULATIOK.  397 

but  for  many  considerations  the  guests  were  to  be  restricted  in 
numbers,  and  the  mirth  was  to  be  restrained  and  quiet. 

When  the  Hst  was  made  out,  Katie  saw  it,  and  saw  that  Char- 
ley's name  was  not  there. 

*'  Mamma,"  she  said,  touching  her  mother's  arm  in  her  sweet, 
winning  way — "may  not  Charley  come  to  Linda's  wedding? 
You  know  how  fond  Harry  is  of  him :  would  not  Harry  wish 
that  he  should  be  here  ?" 

Mrs.  Woodw^ard's  eyes  immediately  filled  with  tears,  and  she 
looked  at  her  daughter,  not  knowing  how  to  answer  her.  She 
had  never  spoken  to  Katie  of  her  love ;  no  word  had  ever 
passed  between  them  on  the  subject  which  was  now  always  near- 
est to  the  hearts  of  them  both.  Mrs.  AVoodward  had  much  in 
her  character,  as  a  mother,  that  was  excellent,  nay,  all  but  per- 
fect ;  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  question  her  own  child- 
ren as  to  the  inward  secrets  of  their  bosoms.  She  knew  not  at 
once  how  to  answer  Katie's  question,  and  so  she  looked  up  at 
her  with  wistful  eyes,  laden  with  tears. 

"You  may  do  so,  mamma,"  said  Katie.  Katie  was  already 
a  braver  woman  than  her  mother.  "  I  think  Harry  would  like 
it,  and  poor  Charley  will  feel  hurt  at  being  left  out ;  you  may 
do  it,  mamma,  if  you  like ;  it  will  not  do  any  harm." 

Mrs.  Woodward  quite  understood  the  nature  of  the  promise 
conveyed  in  her  daughter's  assurance,  and  replied  that  Charley 
should  be  asked.  He  was  asked,  and  promised,  of  course,  to 
come.  But  when  the  wedding  was  postponed,  when  the  other 
guests  were  put  off,  he  also  was  informed  that  his  attendance  at 
Hampton  was  not  immediately  required;  and  so  he  still  remained 
a  stranger  to  the  Cottage. 

And  then  after  a  while  another  day  was  named,  the  guests, 
and  Charley  with  them,  were  again  invited,  and  Norman  was 
again  assured  that  he  should  be  made  happy.  But,  alas !  his 
hopes  were  again  delusive.  News  arrived  at  Surbiton  Cottage 
which  made  it  indispensable  that  the  marriage  should  be  again 
postponed,  news  worse  than  any  which  had  ever  yet  been 
received  there,  news  which  stunned  them  all,  and  made  it  clear 
to  them  that  this  year  was  no  time  for  marrying.  Alaric  had 
been  arrested.  Alaric,  their  own  Gertrude's  own  husband, 
their  son-in-law  and  brother-in-law,  the  proud,  the  high,  the 
successful,  the  towering  man  of  the  world,  Alaric  had  been 
arrested,  and  was  to  be  tried  for  embezzling  the  money  of  his 
ward. 

These  fatal  tidings  were  brought  to  Hampton  by  Harry  Nor 


398  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

man  himself ;  liow  tliey  were  received  we  must  now  endeavor 
to  tell. 

But  that  it  would  be  tedious,  we  might  describe  the  amaze- 
ment with  which  that  news  was  received  at  the  Weights  and 
Measures.  Though  the  great  men  at  the  Weights  were  jealous 
of  Alaric,  they  were  not  the  less  proud  of  him.  They  had 
watched  him  rise  with  a  certain  amount  of  displeasure,  and  yet 
they  had  no  inconsiderable  gratification  in  boasting  that  two  of 
the  Magi,  the  two  working  Magi  of  the  Civil  Service,  had  been 
produced  by  their  own  establishment.  When,  therefore,  tidings 
reached  them  that  Tudor  had  been  summoned  in  a  friendly  way 
to  Bow  Street,  that  he  had  there  passed  a  whole  morning,  and 
that  the  inquiry  had  ended  in  his  temporary  suspension  from  his 
official  duties,  and  in  his  having  to  provide  two  bailsmen,  each  for 
1,000/,,  as  security  that  he  would  on  a  certain  day  be  forthcom- 
ing to  stand  his  trial  at  the  Old  Bailey,  for  defrauding  his  ward 
— when,  I  say,  these  tidings  were  carried  from  room  to  room  at 
the  Weights  and  Measures,  the  feelings  of  surprise  were  equalled 
by  those  of  shame  and  disappointment. 

No  one  knew  who  brought  this  news  to  the  Weights  and 
Measures.  No  one  ever  does  know  how  such  tidings  fly ;  one 
of  the  junior  clerks  had  heard  it  from  a  messenger,  to  whom  it 
had  been  told  down  stairs  ;  then  another  messenger  who  had 
been  across  to  the  Treasury  Chambers  with  an  immediate 
report  as  to  a  projected  change  in  the  size  of  the  authorised 
butter-firkin,  heard  the  same  thing,  and  so  the  news  by  degrees 
was  confirmed. 

But  all  this  was  not  sufiicient  for  Norman.  As  soon  as  the 
ramor  reached  him,  he  went  off  to  Bow  Street,  and  there 
learnt  the  actual  truth  as  it  has  been  above  stated.  Alaric  was 
then  there,  and  the  magistrates  had  decided  on  requiring  bail ; 
he  had,  in  fact,  been  committed. 

It  would  be  dreadful  that  the  Woodwards  should  first  hear 
all  this  from  the  lips  of  a  stranger,  and  this  reflection  induced 
Norman  at  once  to  go  to  Hampton  ;  but  it  was  dreadful,  also, 
to  find  himself  burdened  with  the  task  of  first  telling  such 
tidings.  When  he  found  himself  knocking  at  the  Cottage 
door  he  was  still  doubtful  how  he  might  best  go  through  the 
work  he  had  before  him. 

He  found  that  he  had  a  partial  reprieve  ;  but  then  it  was  so 
partial  that  it  would  have  been  much  better  for  him  to  have 
had  no  such  reprieve  at  all.  Mrs.  Woodward  was  at  Sunbury 
with  Linda,  and  no  one  was  at  home  but  Katie.     What  was  he 


TKIBULATION.  399 

to  do?  was  he  to  tell  Katie  ?  or  was  he  to  pretend  that  all  was 
right,  that  no  special  business  had  brought  him  unexpectedly  to 
Hampton  ? 

"  Oh,  Harry,  Linda  will  be  so  unhappy,"  said  Katie  as  soon 
as  she  saw  him.  "  They  have  gone  to  dine  at  Sunbury,  and 
they  won't  be  home  till  ten  or  eleven.  Uncle  Bat  dined  early 
with  me,  and  he  has  gone  to  Hampton  Court.  Linda  will  be 
so  unhappy.  But,  good  gracious,  Harry,  is  there  anything  the 
matter  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Woodward  has  not  heard  from  Gertrude  to-day,  has 
she  ?" 

"  No — not  a  word — Gertrude  is  not  ill,  is  she?  Oh,  do  tell 
me,"  said  Katie,  who  now  knew  that  there  was  some  misfortune 
to  be  told. 

"  No  ;  Gertrude  is  not  ill." 

"  Is  Alaric  ill  then  ?  Is  there  anything  the  matter  with 
Alaric  T 

"  He  is  not  ill,"  said  Norman,  "  but  he  is  in  some  trouble.  I 
came  down,  as  I  thought  your  mother  should  be  told." 

So  much  he  said,  but  would  say  no  more.  In  this  he  proba- 
bly took  the  most  unwise  course  that  was  open  to  him.  He 
might  have  held  his  tongue  altogether,  and  let  Katie  believe 
that  love  alone  had  brought  him  down,  as  it  had  done  so  often 
before;  or  he  might  have  told  her  all,  feeling  sure  that  all 
must  be  told  her  before  long.  But  he  did  neither  ;  he  left  her 
in  suspense,  and  the  consequence  was  that  before  her  mother's 
return  she  was  very  ill. 

It  was  past  eleven  before  the  fly  was  heard  in  which  Linda 
and  her  mother  returned  home.  Katie  had  then  gone  up  stairs, 
but  not  to  bed.  She  had  seated  herself  in  the  arm-chair  in 
her  mother's  dressing-room,  and  sitting  there  waited  till  she 
should  be  told  by  her  mother  what  had  occurred.  When  the 
sound  of  the  wheels  caught  her  ears,  she  came  to  the  door  of  the 
room  and  held  it  in  her  hand  that  she  might  learn  what  passed. 
She  heard  Linda's  sudden  and  affectionate  greeting;  she  heard 
Mrs.  Woodward's  expression  of  gratified  surprise  ;  and  then  she 
heard  also  Norman's  solemn  tone,  by  which,  as  was  too  clear, 
all  joy,  all  gratification,  was  at  once  suppressed.  Then  she 
heard  the  dining-room  door  close,  and  she  knew  that  he  was 
telling  his  tale  to  Linda  and  her  mother. 

O  the  misery  of  that  next  hour  !  For  an  hour  they  remained 
there  talking,  and  Katie  knew  nothing  of  what  they  were 
talking ;  she  knew  only  that  Norman  had  brought  unhappiness 


400  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

to  them  all.  A  dozen  different  ideas  passed  across  her  mind. 
First  she  thought  that  Alaric  was  dismissed,  then  that  he  was 
dead ;  was  it  not  possible  that  Harry  had  named  Alaric's  name 
to  deceive  her  ?  might  not  this  misfortune,  whatever  it  was,  be 
with  Charley  ?  might  not  he  be  dead  ?  Oh  !  better  so  than 
the  other.  She  knew,  and  said  as  much  to  herself  over  and 
over  again ;  but  she  did  not  the  less  feel  that  his  death  must 
involve  her  own  also. 

At  last  the  dining-room  door  opened,  and  she  heard  her 
mother's  step  on  the  stairs.  Her  heart  beat  so  that  she  could 
hardly  support  herself.  She  did  not  get  up,  but  sat  quite  quiet, 
waiting  for  the  tidings  which  she  knew  that  she  should  now  hear. 
Her  mother's  face,  when  she  entered  the  room,  nearly  drove  her 
to  despair ;  Mrs,  Woodward  had  been  crying,  bitterly,  vio- 
lently, convulsively  crying;  and  when  one  has  reached  the  age 
of  forty,  the  traces  of  such  tears  are  not  easily  effaced  even  from 
a  woman's  cheek. 

"  Mamma,  mamma,  what  is  it  ?  pray,  pray  tell  me  ;  oh ! 
mamma,  what  is  it  ?"  said  Katie,  jumping  up  and  rushing  into 
her  mother's  arms. 

"  Oh  !  Katie,"  said  Mrs.  "Woodward,  "  why  are  you  not  in 
bed  ?  Oh  !  my  darling,  I  wish  you  were  in  bed  ;  I  do  so  wish 
you  were  in  bed — my  child,  my  child  I"  and,  seating  herself 
in  the  nearest  chair,  Mrs.  Woodward  again  gave  herself  up  to 
uncontrolled  weeping. 

Then  Linda  came  up  with  the  copious  tears  still  streaming 
down  her  face.  She  made  no  effort  to  control  them  ;  at  her 
age  tears  are  the  easiest  resource  in  time  of  grief.  Norman  had 
kept  her  back  a  moment  to  whisper  one  word  of  love,  and  she 
then  followed  her  mother  into  the  room. 

Katie  was  now  kneeling  at  her  mother's  feet.  "  Linda,"  she 
said,  with  more  quietness  than  either  of  the  others  was  able  to 
assume,  "  what  has  happened  ?  what  makes  mamma  so  unhappy  ? 
Has  anything  happened  to  Alaric?"  But  Linda  was  in  no 
state  to  tell  anything. 

"  Do  tell  me,  mamma,"  said  Katie ;  "  do  tell  me  all  at  once. 
Has  anything — anything  happened  to — to — Charley  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  worse  than  that,  a  thousand  times  worse-fchan  that !" 
said  Mrs.  Woodward,  who,  in  the  agony  of  her  own  grief,  be- 
came for  the  instant  ungenerous. 

Katie's  blood  rushed  back  to  her  heart,  and  for  a  moment  her 
own  hand  relaxed  the  hold  which  she  had  on  that  of  her 
mother.     She  had  never  spoken  of  her  love ;  for  her  mother's 


TKIBULATION.  401 

sake  she  liad  been  silent ;  for  her  mother's  sake  she  had  deter- 
mined to  suffer  and  be  silent — now,  and  ever!  Well;  she 
would  bear  this  also.  It  was  but  for  a  moment  she  relaxed  her 
hold  ;  and  then  again  she  tightened  her  fingers  round  her 
mother's  hand,  and  held  it  in  a  firmer  grasp.  "  It  is  Alaric, 
then  ?"  she  said. 

"  God  forgive  me,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  speaking  through 
her  sobs — "  God  forgive  me !  I  am  a  broken-hearted  woman, 
and  say  I  know  not  what.  My  Katie,  my  darling,  my  best  of 
darlings — will  you  forgive  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  said  Katie,  kissing  her  mother's  hands,  and 
her  arms,  and  the  very  hem  of  her  garment — "  oh,  mamma,  do 
not  speak  so.  But  I  wish  I  knew  what  this  sorrow  is,  so  that  I 
might  share  it  with  you :  may  I  not  be  told,  mamma  ?  is  it 
about  Alaric  ?" 

"  Yes,  Katie.     Alaric  is  in  trouble." 

"  What  trouble— is  he  ill  ?" 

"  No — he  is  not  ill.     It  is  about  money." 

"  Has  he  been  arrested  ?"  asked  Katie,  thinking  of  Charley's 
misfortune.  "  Could  not  Harry  get  him  out  ?  Harry  is  so 
good  ;  he  would  do  anything,  even  for  Alaric,  when  he  is  in 
trouble." 

"  He  will  do  everything  for  him  that  he  can,"  said  Linda, 
through  her  tears. 

"He  has  not  been  arrested,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward  ;  "he  is 
still  at  home ;  but  he  is  in  trouble  about  Miss  Golightly's 
money — and — and  he  is  to  be  tried." 

'*  Tried,"  said  Katie  ;  "  tried  like  a  criminal !" 

Katie  might  well  express  herself  as  horrified.  Yes,  he  had 
to  be  tried  like  a  criminal ;  tried  as  pickpockets,  housebreakers, 
and  shoplifters  are  tried,  and  for  a  somewhat  similar  offence ; 
with  this  difference,  however,  that  pickpockets,  housebreakers, 
and  shoplifters,  are  seldom  educated  men,  and  are  in  general  led 
on  to  crime  by, want.  He  was  to  be  tried  for  the  offence  of 
making  away  with  some  of  Miss  Golightly's  money  for  his  own 
purposes.  This  was  explained  to  Katie,  with  more  or  less  perspi- 
cuity ;  and  then  Gertrude's  mother  and  sisters  lifted  up  their 
voices  together  and  wept. 

He  might,  it  is  true,  be  acquitted ;  they  would  none  of  them 
believe  him  to  be  guilty,  though  they  all  agreed  that  he  had 
probably  been  imprudent ;  but  then  the  public  shame  of  the 
trial  I  the  disgrace  which  must  follow  such  an  accusation ! 
What  a  downfall  was  here !     "  Oh,  Gertrude !  oh,  Gertrude !" 


402  THE  THEEE  CLEEKS. 

sobbed  Mrs.  Woodward ; — and,  indeed,  at  tnat  time  it  did  not 
fare  well  witb  Gertrude. 

It  was  very  late  when  Mrs.  Woodward  and  her  daughters 
went  to  bed  that  night ;  and  then  Katie,  though  she  did  not 
specially  complain,  was  very  ill.  She  had  lately  received  more 
than  one  wound,  which  was  still  unhealed ;  and  now  this  addi- 
tional blow,  though  she  apparently  bore  it  better  than  the 
others,  altogether  upset  her.  When  the  morning  came,  she 
complained  of  headache,  and  it  was  many  days  after  that  before 
she  left  her  bed. 

But  Mrs.  Woodward  was  up  early.  Indeed,  she  could  hardly 
be  said  to  have  been  in  bed  at  all ;  for  though  she  had  lain 
down  for  an  hour  or  two,  she  had  not  slept.  Early  in  the 
morning  she  knocked  at  Harry's  door,  and  begged  him  to 
come  out  to  her.  He  was  not  long  in  obeying  her  summons, 
and  soon  joined  her  in  the  little  breakfast  parlor. 

"  Harry,"  said  she,  "  you  must  go  and  see  Alaric." 

Harry's  brow  grew  black.  On  the  previous  evening  he  had 
spoken  of  Alaric  without  bitterness,  nay,  almost  with  affection  ; 
of  Gertrude  he  had  spoken  with  the  truest  brotherly  love ;  he 
had  assured  Mrs.  Woodward  that  he  would  d©  all  that  was  in 
his  power  for  them ;  that  he  would  spare  neither  his  exertions 
nor  his  purse.  He  had  a  truer  idea  than  she  had  of  what  might 
probably  be  the  facts  of  the  case,,  and  was  prepared,  by  all  the 
means  at  his  disposal,  to  help  his  sister-in-law,  if  such  aid  would 
help  her.     But  he  had  not  thought  of  seeing  Alaric. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  would  do  any  good,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  Harry,  it  will ;  it  will  do  the  greatest  good ;  whom 
else  can  I  get  to  see  him  ?  who  else  can  find  out  and  let  us 
know  what  really  is  required  of  us,  Avhat  we  ought  to  do  ?  I 
would  do  it  myself,  but  I  could  not  understand  it ;  and  he  would 
never  trust  us  sufficiently  to  tell  me  all  the  truth." 

"  We  will  make  Charley  go  to  him.  He  will  tell  everything 
to  Charley,  if  he  will  to  any  one." 

"We  cannot  trust  Charley;  he  is  so  thoughtless,  so  impru- 
dent. Besides,  Harry,  I  cannot  tell  everything  to  Charley  as  I 
can  to  you.  If  there  be  any  deficiency  in  this  woman's  fortune, 
of  course  it  must  be  made  good ;  and  in  that  case  I  must  raise 
the  money.     I  could  not  arrange  all  this  with  Charley." 

"  There  cannot,  I  think,  be  very  much  wanting,"  said  Nor 
man,  who  had  hardly  yet  realised  the  idea  that  Alaric  had 
actually  used  his  w^ard's  money  for  his  own  purposes.  "  He 
has  probably  made  some  bad  investment,  or  trusted  persons 


TRIBULATION.  403 

that  he  should  not  have  trusted.  My  small  property  is  in  the 
funds,  and  I  can  get  the  amount  at  a  moment's  notice.  I  do 
not  think  there  will  be  any  necessity  to  raise  more  money  than 
that.  At  any  rate,  whatever  happens,  you  must  not  touch  your 
own  income  ;  think  of  Katie." 

"  But,  Harry — dear,  good,  generous  Harry — you  are  so  good, 
so  generous  !  But,  Harry,  we  need  not  talk  of  that  now.  You 
will  see  him,  though,  won't  you?" 

"  It  will  do  no  good,"  said  Harry;  "we  have  no  mutual  trust 
in  each  other." 

"  Do  not  be  unforgiving.  Harry,  now  that  he  requires  forgive- 
ness." 

"  If  he  does  require  forgiveness,  Mrs.  Woodward,  if  it  shall 
turn  out  that  he  has  been  guilty,  God  knows  that  I  will  forgive 
him.  I  trust  this  may  not  be  the  case ;  and  it  would  be  useless 
for  me  to  thrust  myself  upon  him  now,  when  a  few  days  may 
replace  us  again  in  our  present  relation  to  each  other." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Harry;  why  should  there  always 
be  a  quarrel  between  two  brothers,  between  the  husbands  of 
tw^o  sisters  ?  I  know  you  mean  to  be  kind,  I  know  you  are  most 
kind,  most  generous ;  but  why  should  you  be  so  stern  ?" 

"  What  I  mean  is  this — if  I  find  him  in  adversity,  I  shall  be 
ready  to  offer  him  my  hand ;  it  will  then  be  for  him  to  say 
whether  he  will  take  it.  But  if  the  storm  blow  over,  in  such 
case  I  would  rather  that  we  should  remain  as  we  are." 

Xorman  talked  of  forgiveness,  and  accused  himself  of  no  want 
of  charity  in  this  respect.  He  had  no  idea  that  his  own  heart 
was  still  hard  as  the  neth^^milUtone-against  Alaric  Tudor.  But 
yet  such  was  the  truth.  His  money  he  could  give ;  he  could 
give  also  his  time  and  mind,  he  could  lend  his  best  abilities  to 
rescue  his  former  friend  and  his  own  former  love  from  misfortune. 
He  could  do  this,  and  he  thought  therefore  that  he  was  forgiv- 
ing; but  there  was  no  forgiveness  in  such  assistance.  There 
was  generosity  in  it,  for  he  was  ready  to  part  with  his  money ; 
there  was  kindness  of  heart,  for  he  was  anxious  to  do  good  to 
his  fellow- creature  ;  but  there  were  with  these  both  pride  and 
revenge.  Alaric  had  out-topped  him  in  everything,  and  it  was 
sweet  to  Norman's  pride  that  his  hand  should  be  the  one  to  raise 
from  his  sudden  fall  the  man  who  had  soared  so  high  above  him. 
Alaric  had  injured  him,  and  what  revenge  is  so  perfect  as  to  re- 
pay gross  injuries  by  great  benefits  ?  Is  it  not  thus  that  we 
heap  coals  of  fire  on  our  enemies'  heads  ?  Not  that  Norman 
indulged  in  thoughts  such  as  these ;  not  that  he  resolved  thus  to 


404:  THE  THREE  CLERKS. 

gratify  his  pride,  tlius  to  indulge  his  revenge.     He  was  uncon- 
scious of  his  own  sin,  but  he  was  not  the  less  a  sinner. 

"No,"  said  he,  "I  will  not  see  him  myself;  it  will  do  no 
good." 

Mrs.  Woodward  found  that  it  was  useless  to  try  to  bend  him. 
That,  indeed,  she  knew  from  a  long  experience.  It  was  then 
settled  that  she  should  go  up  to  Gertrude  that  morning,  travel- 
ling up  to  town  together  with  Norman,  and  that  when  she  had 
learned  from  her  daughter,  or  from  Alaric — if  Alaric  would  talk 
to  her  about  his  concerns — what  was  really  the  truth  of  the 
matter,  she  should  come  to  Norman's  office,  and  tell  him  what 
it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  do. 

And  then  the  marriage  was  again  put  off.  This,  in  itself,  was 
a  great  misery,  as  young  ladies  who  have  just  been  married,  or 
who  may  now  be  about  to  be  married,  will  surely  own.  The 
words  "  put  off"  are  easily  written,  the  necessity  of  such  a  "  put 
off "  is  easily  arranged  in  the  pages  of  a  novel ;  an  enforced 
delay  of  a  month  or  two  in  an  affair  which  so  many  folk  will- 
ingly delay  for  so  many  years,  sounds  like  a  slight  thing  ;  but, 
nevertheless,  a  matrimonial  "  put  off"  is,  under  any  circumstances, 
a  great  grief.  To  have  to  counter-write  those  halcyon  notes, 
which  have  given  glad  promise  of  the  coming  event ;  to  pack 
up  and  put  out  of  sight,  and,  if  possible,  out  of  mind,  the  now 
odious  finery  with  which  the  house  has  for  the  last  weeks  been 
strewed  ;  to  give  the  necessary  information  to  the  pastry-cook, 
from  whose  counter  the  sad  tidings  will  be  disseminated  through 
all  the  neighborhood ;  to  annul  the  orders  which  have  probably 
been  given  for  rooms  and  horses  for  the  happy  pair  ;  to  live, 
during  the  coming  interval,  a  mark  for  Pity's  unpitying  finger; 
to  feel,  and  know,  and  hourly  calculate,  how  many  slips  there 
may  be  between  the  disappointed  lip  and  the  still  distant  cup  ; 
all  these  things  in  themselves  make  up  a  great  grief,  which  is 
hardly  lightened  by  the  knowledge  that  they  have  been  caused 
by  a  still  greater  grief. 

These  things  had  Linda  now  to  do,  and  the  poor  girl  had  none 
to  help  her  in  the  doing  of  them.  A  few  hurried  words  were 
spoken  on  that  morning  between  her  and  Norman,  and  for  the 
second  time  she  set  to  work  to  put  oft'  her  wedding.  Katie,  the 
meantime,  lay  sick  in  bed,  and  Mrs.  Woodward  had  gone  to 
London  to  learn  the  worst  and  to  do  the  best  in  this  dire  afflic- 
tion that  had  come  upon  them. 


ALARIC   TUDOR  TAKES   A   WALK.  406 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

ALARIC    TUDOR    TAKES    A    WALK. 

There  is,  nndoiibtedly,  a  propensity  in  human  love  to  attach 
itself  to  excellence  ;  but  it  has  also,  as  undoubtedly,  a  propensity 
directly  antagonistic  to  this,  and  which  teaches  it  to  put  forth 
its  strongest  efforts  in  favor  of  inferiority.  Watch  any  fair  flock 
of  children  in  which  there  may  be  one  blighted  bud,  and  vou 
will  see  that  that  blighted  one  is  the  mother's  darling..  What 
filial  affection  is  ever  so  strong  as  that  evinced  by  a  child  for  a 
parent  in  misfortune  ?  Even  among  the  rough  sympathies  of 
schoolboys,  the  cripple,  the  sickly  one,  or  the  orphan  without  a 
home,  will  find  the  w^armest  friendship  and  a  stretch  of  kindness. 
Love,  that  must  bow  and  do  reverence  to  superiority,  can  pro- 
tect and  foster  inferiority ;  and  what  is  so  sweet  as  to  be  able  to 
protect  ? 

Gertrude's  love  for  her  husband  had  never  been  so  strong  as 
when  she  learnt  that  that  love  must  now  stand  in  the  place  of 
all  other  sympathies,  of  all  other  tenderness.  Alaric  told  her 
of  his  crime,  and  in  his  bitterness  he  owned  that  he  was  no 
longer  worthy  of  her  love.  She  answered  by  opening  her 
arms  to  him  with  more  warmth  than  ever,  and  bidding  him 
rest  his  weary  head  upon  her  breast.  Had  they  not  taken  each 
other  for  better  or  for  worse  ?  had  not  their  bargain  been  that 
they  would  be  happy  together  if  such  should  be  their  lot,  or  sad 
together  if  God  should  so  will  it  ? — and  would  she  be  the  first 
to  cry  off  from  such  a  bargain  ? 

It  seldom  happens  that  a  woman's  love  is  quenched  by  a 
man's  crime.  Women  in  this  respect  are  more  enduring  than 
men  ;  they  have  softer  sympathies,  and  less  acute,  less  selfish, 
appreciation  of  the  misery  of  being  joined  to  that  which  has 
been  shamed.  It  was  not  many  hours  since  Gertrude  had 
boasted  to  herself  of  the  honor  and  honesty  of  her  lord,  and 
tossed  her  head  with  defiant  scorn  when  a  breath  of  suspicion 
had  been  muttered  against  his  name.  Then  she  heard  from  his 
own  lips  the  whole  truth,  learnt  that  that  odious  woman  had 
only  muttered  what  she  soon  would  have  a  right  to  speak  out 
openly,  knew  that  fame  and  honor,  high  position  and  pride  of 
life,  w^ere  all  gone ;  and  then  in  that  bitter  hour  she  felt  that 
she  had  never  loved  him  as  she  did  then. 


406  THE   THBEE   CLEKKS. 

He  had  done  wrong,  he  had  sinned  grievously  ;  but  no  sooner 
did  she  acknowledge  so  much  than  she  acknowledged  also  that 
a  man  may  sin  and  yet  not  be  all  sinful ;  that  glory  may  be 
tarnished,  and  yet  not  utterly  destroyed  ;  that  pride  may  get  a 
fall,  and  yet  live  to  rise  again.  He  had  sinned,  and  had 
repented ;  and  now  to  her  eyes  he  was  again  as  pure  as  snow. 
Others  would  now  doubt  him,  that  must  needs  be  the  case  ;  but 
she  would  never  doubt  him  ;  no,  not  a  whit  the  more  in  that 
he  had  once  fallen.  He  should  still  be  the  cynosure  of  her 
eyes,  the  pride  of  her  heart,  the  centre  of  her  hopes.  Marina 
said  of  her  lord,  when  he  came  to  her  shattered  in  limb,  from 
the  hands  of  the  torturer — 

"  I  would  not  change 
My  exiled,  mangled,  persecuted  husband, 
Alive  or  dead,  for  prince  or  paladin, 
In  story  or  in  fable,  with  a  world 
To  back  his  suit." 

Gertrude  spoke  to  herself  in  the  same  language.  She  would 
not  have  changed  her  Alaric,  branded  with  infamy  as  he  now 
was,  or  soon  would  be,  for  the  proudest  he  that  carried  his 
head  high  among  the  proud  ones  of  the  earth.  Such  is 
woman's  love  ;  such  is  the  love  of  which  a  man's  heart  is  never 
capable ! 

Alaric's  committal  had  taken  place  very  much  in  the  manner 
in  which  it  was  told  at  the  Weights  and  Measures.  He  had 
received  a  note  from  one  of  the  Bow-street  magistrates,  begging 
his  attendance  in  the  private  room  at  the  police-office.  There 
he  had  passed  nearly  the  whole  of  one  day ;  and  he  was  also 
obliged  to  pass  nearly  the  whole  of  another  in  the  same  office. 
On  this  second  day  the  proceedings  were  not  private,  and  he 
was  accompanied  by  his  own  solicitor. 

It  would  be  needless  to  describe  how  a  plain  case  was,  as 
usual,  made  obscure  by  the  lawyers,  how  acts  of  parliament 
were  consulted,  how  the  magistrate  doubted,  how  indignant 
Alaric's  attorney  became  when  it  was  suggested  that  some 
insignificant  piece  of  evidence  should  be  admitted,  which, 
whether  admitted  or  rejected,  could  have  no  real  bearing  on 
the  case.  In  these  respects  this  important  examination  was 
like  other  important  examinations  of  the  same  kind,  such  as 
one  sees  in  the  newspapers  whenever  a  man  above  the  ordinary 
felon's  rank  becomes  amenable  to  the  outraged  laws.  It  ended, 
however,  in  Alaric  being  committed,  and  giving  bail  to  stand 


ALARIC   ITJDOK  TAKES    A   WALK.  407 

his  trial  in  about  a  fortnight's  time  ;  and  in  his  being  assured 
by  his  attorney  that  he  would  most  certainly  be  acquitted. 
That  bit  of  paper  on  which  he  had  made  an  entry  that  certain 
shares  bought  by  him  had  been  bought  on  behalf  of  his  ward, 
would  save  him ;  so  said  the  attorney :  to  which,  however, 
Alaric  answered  not  much.  Could  any  acutest  lawyer,  let  him 
be  made  of  never  so  fine  an  assortment  of  forensic  indignation, 
now  whitewash  his  name  and  set  him  again  right  before  the 
world  ?  He,  of  course,  communicated  with  Sir  Gregory,  and 
agreed  to  be  suspended  from  his  commissionership  till  the  trial 
should  be  over.     His  two  colleagues  then  became  bail  for  him. 

So  much  having  been  settled,  he  got  into  a  cab  with  his  at- 
torney, and  having  dropped  that  gentleman  on  the  road,  he  re- 
turned home.  The  excitement  of  the  examination  and  the 
necessity  for  action  had  sustained  him  ?  but  now — what  was  to 
sustain  him  now  ?  How  was  he  to  get  through  the  interven- 
ing fortnight,  banished  as  he  was  from  his  office,  from  his  club, 
and  from  all  haunts  of  men  ?  His  attorney,  who  had  other 
rogues  to  attend  to  besides  him,  made  certain  set  appointments 
with  him, — and  for  the  rest,  he  might  sit  at  home  and  console 
himself  as  best  he  might  with  his  own  thoughts.  Excelsior  I 
This  was  the  pass  to  which  "  excelsior"  had  brought  Sic  itur  ad 
astra! — Alas,  his  road  had  taken  him  hitherto  in  quite  a  difi'er- 
ent  direction. 

He  sent  for  Charley,  and  when  Charley  came  he  made  Ger- 
trude explain  to  him  what  had  happened.  He  had  confessed 
his  own  fault  once,  to  his  own  wife,  and  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  do  it  again.  Charley  was  thunderstruck  at  the 
greatness  of  the  ruin,  but  he  offered  what  assistance  he  could 
give.  Anything  that  he  could  do,  he  would.  Alaric  had  sent 
for  him  for  a  purpose,  and  that  purpose  at  any  rate  Charley 
could  fulfil.  He  went  into  the  city  to  ascertain  what  was  now 
the  price  of  the  Limehouse  bridge  shares,  and  returned  with 
the  news  that  they  were  falling,  falling,  falling. 

No  one  else  called  at  Alaric's  door  that  day.  Mrs.  Yal, 
though  she  did  not  come  there,  by  no  means  allowed  her  horses 
to  be  idle  ;  she  went  about  sedulously  among  her  acquaintance, 
dropping  tidings  of  her  daughter's  losses.  "  They  will  have 
enough  left  to  live  upon,  thank  God,"  said  she  ;  "  but  did  you 
ever  hear  of  so  barefaced,  so  iniquitous  a  robbery  ?  Well,  I 
am  not  cruel;  but  my  own  opinion  is  that  he  should  certainly 
be  hanged." 

To  this  Ugolina  assented  fully,  adding,  that  she  had  been  so 


408  THE  THEEE   CLERKS. 

shocked  by  the  suddenness  and  horror  of  the  news,  as  to  have 
become  perfectly  incapacitated  ever  since  for  any  high  order  of 
thought. 

Lactimel,  whose  soft  bosom  could  not  endure  the  idea  of 
putting  an  end  to  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature,  suggested  perpe- 
tual banishment  to  the  penal  colonies;  perhaps  Norfolk  Island. 
"And  what  will  she  do?"  said  Lactimel. 

"  Indeed  I  cannot  guess,"  said  Ugolina  ;  "  her  education  has 
been  sadly  deficient." 

None  but  Charley  called  on  Alaric  that  day,  and  he  found 
himself  shut  up  alone  with  his  wife  and  child.  His  own  house 
seemed  to  him  a  prison.  He  did  not  dare  to  leave  it ;  he  did 
not  dare  to  walk  out  and  face  the  public  as  long  as  daylight 
continued  ;  he  was  ashamed  to  show  himjself,  and  so  he  sat  alone 
in  his  dining-room  thinking,  thinking,  thinking.  Do  what  he 
would,  he  could  not  get  those  sh"ares~5nt"6f  his  mind  ;  they  had 
entered  like  iron  into  his  soul,  as  poison  into  his  blood ;  they 
might  still  rise,  they  might  yet  become  of  vast  value,  might 
pay  all  his  debts,  and  enable  him  to  begin  again.  And  then 
this  had  been  a  committee  day ;  he  had  had  no  means  of  know- 
ing how  things  had  gone  there,  of  learning  the  opinions  of  the 
members,  of  whispering  to  Mr.  Piles,  or  hearing  the  law  on  the 
matter  laid  down  by  the  heavy  deep  voice  of  the  great  Mr. 
Blocks.  And  so  he  went  on  thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  but 
ever  as  though  he  had  a  clock-weight  fixed  to  his  heart  and 
pulling  at  its  strings.  For,  after  all,  what  were  the  shares  or 
the  committee  to  him  ?  Let  the  shares  rise  to  ever  so  fabulous 
a  value,  let  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  be  ever  so  com- 
plaisant in  giving  away  his  money,  what  avail  would  it  be  to 
him?  what  avail  now?  He  must  stand  his  trial  for  the  crime 
of  which  he  had  been  guilty. 

With  the  utmost  patience  Gertrude  endeavored  to  soothe 
him,  and  to  bring  his  mind  into  some  temper  in  which  it  could 
employ  itself.  She  brought  him  their  baby,  thinking  that  he 
would  play  with  his  child,  but  all  that  he  said  was — "  My  poor 
boy  !  I  have  ruined  him  already ;"  and  then  turning  away 
from  the  infant,  he  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  trousers- 
pockets,  and  went  on  calculating  about  the  shares. 

When  the  sun  had  well  set,  and  the  daylight  had,  at  last, 
dwindled  out,  he  took  up  his  hat  and  wandered  out  among  the 
new  streets  and  rows  of  houses  which  lay  between  his  own 
house  and  the  Western  Railway.  He  got  into  a  district  in 
which  he  had  never  been  before,  and  as  he  walked  about  here, 


ALARIC   TUDOK   TAKES    A    ^^'ALK.  409 

he  thought  of  the  fate  of  other  such  swindlers  as  himself; — 
yes,  though  he  did  not  speak  the  word,  he  pronounced  it  as 
plainly,  and  as  often,  in  the  utterance  of  his  mind,  as  though  it 
was  being  rung  out  to  him  from  every  steeple  in  London  ;  he 
thought  of  the  fate  of  such  swindlers  as  himself;  how  one  had 
been  found  dead  in  the  streets,  poisoned  by  himself;  how  an- 
other, after  facing  the  cleverest  lawyers  in  the  land,  was  now 
dying  in  a  felon's  prison ;  how  a  third  had  vainly  endeavored 
to  Hy  from  justice  by  aid  of  wigs,  false  whiskers,  painted  fur- 
rows, and  other  disguises.  Should  he  try  to  escape  also,  and 
avoid  the  ignominy  of  a  trial  ?  He  knew  it  would  be  in  vain ; 
he  knew  that,  at  this  moment,  he  was  dogged  at  the  distance 
of  some  thirty  yards  by  an  amiable  policeman  in  mufti,  placed 
to  watch  his  motions  by  his  two  kind  bailsmen,  who  preferred 
this  small  expense  to  the  risk  of  losing  a  thousand  pounds  a-piece. 

As  he  turned  short  round  a  corner,  into  the  main  road  lead- 
ing from  the  railway  station  to  Bayswater,  he  came  close  upon 
a  man  who  was  walking  quickly  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  Undy  Scott.  How  on  earth 
should  Undy  Scott  have  come  out  there  to  Bayswater,  at  that 
hour  of  the  night,  he,  the  constant  denizen  of  clubs,  the  well- 
known  frequenter  of  Pall  Mall,  the  member  for  the  Tillietudlem 
burghs,  whose  every  hour  was  occupied  in  the  looking  after 
things  political,  or  things  commercial  ?  Who  could  have 
expected  him  in  a  back  road  at  Bayswater  ?  There,  however, 
he  was,  and  Alaric,  before  he  knew  of  his  presence,  had  almost 
stumbled  against  him. 

"  Scott !"  said  Alaric,  starting  back. 

"  Hallo,  Tudor,  what  the  deuce  brings  you  here  ?  but  I  sup- 
pose you'll  ask  me  the  same  question  ?"  said  Undy. 

Alaric  Tudor  could  not  restrain  himself.  "  You  scoundrel," 
said  he,  seizing  Undy  by  the  collar;  "you  utterly  unmitigated 
scoundrel !  You  premeditated,  wilful  villain  !"  and  he  held 
Undy  as  though  he  intended  to  choke  him. 

But  Undy  Scott  w^as  not  a  man  to  be  thus  roughly  handled 
with  impunity ;  and  in  completing  the  education  which  he  had 
received,  the  use  of  his  fists  had  not  been  overlooked.  He  let 
out  with  his  right  hand,  and  struck  Alaric  twice  with  con- 
siderable force  on  the  side  of  his  jaw,  so  that  the  teeth  rattled 
in  his  mouth. 

But  Alaric,  at  the  moment,  hardly  felt  it.  "  You  have 
brought  me  and  mine  to  ruin,"  said  he ;  "  you  have  done  it 
purposely,  like  a  fiend.     But  low  as  I  have  fallen,  I  would  not 

18 


410  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

change  places  with  you  for  all   that  the  earth  holds.     I  have 

been  a  villain  ;  but  such  villany  as  yours, — ugh "  and  so 

saying,  he  flung  his  enemy  from  him,  and  TJndy,  tottering  back, 
saved  himself  against  the  wall. 

In  a  continued  personal  contest  between  the  two  men,  Undy 
would  probably  have  had  the  best  of  it,  for  he  would  certainly 
have  been  the  cooler  of  the  two,  and  was  also  the  most  skilful 
in  such  warfare ;  but  he  felt  in  a  moment  that  he  could  gain 
nothing  by  thrashing  Tudor,  whereas  he  might  damage  himself 
materially  by  having  his  name  brought  forward  at  the  present 
moment  in  connection  with  that  of  his  old  friend. 

"  You  reprobate  !"  said  he,  preparing  to  pass  on ;  "  it  has 
been  my  misfortune  to  know  you,  and  one  cannot  touch  pitch 
and  not  be  defiled.  But,  thank  God,  you'll  come  by  your 
deserts  now.  If  you  will  take  my  advice,  you'll  hang  yourself;" 
and  so  they  parted. 

The  amiable  policeman  in  mufti  remained  at  a  convenient 
distance  during  this  little  interview,  having  no  special  mission 
to  keep  the  peace,  pending  his  present  employment ;  but,  as  he 
passed  by,  he  peered  into  Undy's  face,  and  recognised  the  hon- 
orable member  for  the  Tillietudlem  burghs.  A  really  sharp 
policeman  knows  every  one  of  any  note  in  London.  It  might, 
perhaps,  be  useful  that  evidence  should  be  given  at  the  forth- 
coming trial  of  the  little  contest  which  we  have  described.  If 
so,  our  friend  in  mufti  was  prepared  to  give  it. 

On  the  following  morning,  at  about  eleven,  a  cab  drove  up 
to  the  door,  and  Alaric,  standing  at  the  dining-room  window, 
saw  Mrs.  Woodward  get  out  of  it. 

"  There's  your  mother,"  said  Alaric  to  his  wife.  "  I  will  not 
see  her — let  her  go  up  to  the  drawing-room." 

"  Oh  !  Alaric,  will  you  not  see  mamma?" 

"  How  can  I,  with  my  face  swollen  as  it  is  now  ?  Besides, 
what  would  be  the  good  ?  What  can  I  say  to  her  ?  I  know 
well  enough  what  she  has  to  say  to  me,  without  hstening 
to  it." 

"  Dear  Alaric,  mamma  will  say  nothing  to  you  that  is  not 
kind  ;  do  see  her,  for  my  sake,  Alaric." 

But  misery  had  not  made  him  docile.  He  merely  turned 
from  her,  and  shook  his  head  impatiently.  Gertrude  then  ran 
out  to  welcome  her  mother,  w^ho  was  in  the  hall. 

And  what  a  welcoming  it  was  !  "  Come  up  stairs,  mamma, 
come  into  the  drawing-room,"  said  Gertrude,  who  would  not 
stop  even  to  kiss  her  mother  till  they  found  themselves  secured 


ALARIC   TUDOK   TAKES   A    WALK.  411 

from  the  servants'  eyes.  She  knew  that  one  word  of  tenderness 
would  bring  her  to  the  ground. 

"  Mamma,  mamma  !  "  she  ahnost  shrieked,  and  throwing  her- 
self into  her  mother's  arms  wept  convulsively.  Mrs.  Woodward 
wanted  no  more  words  to  tell  her  that  Alaric  had  been  guilty. 

"  But,  Gertrude,  how  much  is  it? "  whispered  the  mother,  as, 
after  a  few  moments  of  passionate  grief,  they  sat  holding  each 
other's  hands  on  the  sofa.  "  How  much  money  is  wanting  ? 
Can  we  not  make  it  up  ?  If  it  be  all  paid  before  the  day  of 
trial,  will  not  that  do?  will  not  that  prevent  it?" 

Gertrude  could  not  say.  She  knew  that  10,000^.  had  been 
abstracted.  Mrs.  Woodward  groaned  as  she  heard  the  sum 
named.  But  then  there  were  those  shares,  which  had  not  long 
since  been  worth  much  more  than  half  that  sum,  which  must 
still  be  worth  a  large  part  of  it 

"  But  we  must  know,  dearest,  before  Harry  can  do  anything," 
said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

Gertrude  blushed  crimson  when  Harry  Norman's  name  was 
mentioned.  And  had  it  come  to  that — that  they  must  look  to 
him  for  aid  ? 

"  Can  you  not  ask  him,  love  ? "  said  Mrs.  Woodward.  "  I  saw 
him  in  the  dining-room  ;  go  and  ask  him  ;  when  he  knows  that 
we  are  doing  our  best  for  him,  surely  he  will  help  us." 

Gertrude,  with  a  heavy  heart,  went  down  on  her  message, 
and  did  not  return  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes.  It  may  easily 
be  conceived  that  Norman's  name  was  not  mentioned  between 
her  and  her  husband,  but  she  made  him  understand  that  an 
eflfort  would  be  made  for  him,  if  only  the  truth  could  be  ascer- 
tained. 

"  It  will  be  of  no  use,"  said  he. 

"  Don't  say  so,  Alaric ;  Ave  cannot  tell  what  may  be  of  use. 
But  at  any  rate  it  will  be  weight  off  your  heart  to  know  that 
this  money  has  been  paid.  It  is  that  which  overpowers  you 
now,  and  not  your  own  misfortune." 

At  last  he  suff'ered  her  to  lead  him,  and  she  put  down  on 
paper  such  figures  as  he  dictated  to  her.  It  was,  however,  im- 
possible to  say  what  was  the  actual  deficiency ;  that  must  depend 
upon  the  present  value  of  the  shares ;  these  he  said  he  was 
prepared  to  give  over  to  his  own  attorney,  if  it  was  thought 
that  by  so  doing  he  should  be  taking  the  best  steps  towards 
repairing  the  evil  he  had  done  ;  and  then  he  began  calculating 
how  much  the  shares  might  possibly  be  worth,  and  pointing  out 
under  what  circumstances  they  should  be  sold,  and  undei-  what 


412  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

again  they  should  be  overheld  till  the  market  had  improved. 
All  this  was  worse  than  Greek  to  Gertrude ;  but  she  collected 
what  facts  she  could,  and  then  returned  to  her  mother. 

And  they  discussed  the  matter  with  all  the  wit  and  all  the 
volubility  which  women  have  on  such  occasions.  Paper  was 
brought  forth,  and  accounts  were  made  out  between  them,  not 
such  as  would  please  the  eyes  of  a  Civil  Service  Examiner,  but 
yet  accurate  in  their  way.  How  they  worked  and  racked  their 
brains,  and  strained  their  women's  nerves  in  planning  how  justice 
might  be  defeated,  and  the  dishonesty  of  the  loved  one  covered 
from  shame  !  Uncle  Bat  was  ready  with  his  share.  He  had 
received  such  explanation  as  Mrs.  Woodward  had  been  able  to 
give,  and  though  when  he  first  heard  the  news  he  had  spoken 
severely  of  Alaric,  still  his  money  should  be  forthcoming  for 
the  service  of  the  family.  He  could  produce  some  fifteen  hun- 
dred pounds ;  and  would,  if  needs  be  that  he  should  do  so. 
Then  Harry — but  the  pen  fell  from  Gertrude's  fingers  as  she 
essayed  to  write  down  Harry  Norman's  contribution  to  the 
relief  of  her  husband's  misery. 

"Remember,  Gertrude,  love,  in  how  short  a  time  he  will  be 
your  brother." 

"  But  when  will  it  be,  mamma  ?  Is  it  to  be  on  Thursday,  as 
we  had  planned  ?     Of  course,  mamma,  I  cannot  be  there." 

And  then  there  was  a  break  in  their  accounts,  and  Mrs. 
Woodward  explained  to  Gertrude  that  they  had  all  thought  it 
better  to  postpone  Linda's  marriage  till  after  the  trial ;  and  this, 
of  course,  was  the  source  of  fresh  grief.  When  men  such  as 
Alaric  Tudor  stoop  to  dishonesty,  the  penalties  of  detection  are 
not  confined  to  their  own  hearth-stone.  The  higher  are  the 
branches  of  the  tree  and  the  wider,  the  greater  will  be  the  ex- 
tent of  earth  which  its  fall  will  disturb. 

Gertrude's  pen,  however,  again  went  to  work.  The  shares 
were  put  down  at  5,000Z.  "If  they  can  only  be  sold  for  so 
much,  I  think  we  may  manage  it,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward ;  "  I 
am  sure  that  Harry  can  get  the  remainder — indeed  he  said  he 
could  have  more  than  that." 

"  And  what  will  Linda  do  ?" 

"  Linda  will  never  want  it,  love  :  and  if  she  did,  what  of  that  ? 
would  she  not  give  all  she  has  for  you  ?" 

,  And  then  Mrs.  Woodward  went  her  way  to  Norman's  oflBce, 
'without  having  spoken  to  Alaric.  "  You  will  come  again  soon, 
mamma,"  said  Gertrude.  Mrs.  Woodward  promised  that  she 
would. 


THE  LAST  BREAKFAST.  413 

"  And  mamma,"  and  she  whispered  close  into  her  mother's 
ear,  as  she  made  her  next  request ;  "  and,  mamma,  you  will  be 
with  me  on  that  day  ?" 

We  need  not  follow  Norman  in  his  efforts  to  have  her  full 
fortune  restored  to  Madame  Jaquetanape.  He  was  daily  in  con- 
nection with  Alaric's  lawyer,  and  returned  sometimes  with  hope 
and  sometimes  without  it.  Mrs.  Val's  lawyer  would  receive  no 
overtures  towards  a  withdrawal  of  the  charge,  or  even  towards 
any  mitigation  in  their  proceedings,  unless  the  agent  coming 
forward  on  behalf  of  the  lady's  late  trustee,  did  so  with  the  full 
sum  of  20,000/  in  his  hands. 

We  need  not  follow  Charley,  who  was  every  day  with  Alaric, 
and  who  was,  unknown  to  Alaric,  an  agent  between  him  and 
Norman.  "  Well,  Charley,  what  are  they  doing  to-day  ?"  was 
Alaric's  constant  question  to  him,  even  up  to  the  very  eve  of  his 
trial. 

If  any  spirit  ever  walks  it  must  be  that  of  the  stock-jobber, 
for  how  can  such  a  one  rest  in  its  grave  without  knowing  what 
shares  are  doing  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    LAST    BREAKFAST. 


And  that  day  was  not  long  in  coming ;  indeed,  it  came  with 
terrible  alacrity;  much  too  quickly  for  Gertrude,  much  too 
quickly  for  Norman  ;  and  much  too  quickly  for  Alaric's  lawyer. 
To  Alaric  only  did  the  time  pass  slowly,  for  he  found  himself 
utterly  without  employment. 

Norman  and  Uncle  Bat  between  them  had  raised  something 
about  6,000/. ;  but  when  the  day  came  on  which  they  were  pre- 
pared to  dispose  of  the  shares,  the  Limehouse  Bridge  was  found 
to  be  worth  nothing.  They  were,  as  the  broker  had  said,  tick- 
lish stock ;  so  ticklish  that  no  one  w^ould  have  them  at  any 
price.  When  Undy,  together  with  his  agent  from  Tillietudlem, 
went  into  the  market  about  the  same  time  to  dispose  of  theirs, 
they  were  equally  unsuccessful.  How  the  agent  looked  and 
spoke  and  felt  may  be  imagined ;  for  the  ageijt  had  made  large 
advances,  and  had  no  other  security ;  but  Undy  had  borne  such 
looks  and  speeches  before,  and  merely  said  that  it  was  very  odd 
— extremely  odd ;  he  had  been  greatly  deceived  by  Mr.  Piles. 
Mr.  Piles  also  said  it  was  very  odd ;  but  he  did  not  appear  to 
be  nearly  so  much  annoved  as  the  agent  from  Tillietudlem ;  and 


414  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

it  was  whispered  that,  queer  as  things  now  looked,  Messrs. 
Blocks,  Piles,  and  Cofferdam,  had  not  made  a  bad  thing  of  the 
bridge. 

Overture  after  overture  was  made  to  the  lawyer  employed  by- 
Mrs.  Val's  party.  Norman  first  offered  the  6,000Z.  and  the 
shares ;  then  when  the  shares  were  utterly  rejected  by  the 
share-buying  world,  he  offered  to  make  himself  personally  re- 
sponsible for  the  remainder  of  the  debt,  and  to  bind  himself  by 
bond  to  pay  it  within  six  months.  At  first  these  propositions 
were  listened  to,  and  Alaric's  friends  were  led  to  believe  that  the 
matter  would  be  handled  in  such  a  way  that  the  prosecution 
would  fall  to  the  ground.  But  at  last  all  composition  was  re- 
fused. The  adverse  attorney  declared,  first,  that  he  was  not 
able  to  accept  any  money  payment  short  of  the  full  amount 
with  interest,  and  then  he  averred,  that  as  criminal  proceedings 
had  been  taken  they  could  not  now  be  stayed.  Whether  or  no 
Alaric's  night  attack  had  anything  to  do  with  this,  whether 
TJndy  had  been  the  means  of  instigating  this  rigid  adherence  to 
justice,  we  are  not  prepared  to  say. 

That  day  for  which  Gertrude  had  prayed  her  mother's  assist- 
ance, came  all  too  soon.  They  had  become  at  last  aware  that 
the  trial  must  go  on.  Charley  was  with  them  on  the  last  eve- 
ning, and  completed  their  despair  by  telling  them  that  their 
attorney  had  resolved  to  make  no  further  efforts  at  a  compro- 
mise. 

Perhaps  the  most  painful  feeling  to  Gertrude  through  the 
whole  of  the  last  fortnight,  had  been  the  total  prostration  of  her 
husband's  energy,  and  almost  of  his  intellect;  he  seemed  to 
have  lost  the  power  of  judging  for  himself,  and  of  thinking  and 
deciding  what  conduct  would  be  best  for  him  in  his  present 
condition.  He  who  had  been  so  energetic,  so  full  of  life,  so 
ready  for  all  emergencies,  so  clever  at  devices,  so  able  to  manage 
not  only  for  himself  but  for  his  friends,  he  was,  as  it  were,  para- 
lyzed and  unmanned.  He  sat  from  morning  to  night  looking  at 
the  empty  fire-grate,  and  hardly  ventured  to  speak  of  the  ordeal 
that  he  had  to  undergo. 

His  lawyer  was  to  call  for  him  on  the  morning  of  the  trial, 
and  Mrs.  Woodward  was  to  be  at  the  house  soon  after  he  had 
left  it.  He  had  not  yet  seen  her  since  the  inquiry  had  com- 
menced, and  it  was  very  plain  that  he  did  not  wish  to  do  so. 
Mrs.  Woodward  was  to  be  there  and  to  remain  till  his  fate  had 

been  decided,  and  then .     Not  a  word  had  yet  been  said  as 

to  the  chance  of  his  not  returning ;  but  Mrs.  Woodward  was 


THE  LAST  BREAKFAST.  415 

aware  that  he  would  probably  be  unable  to  do  so,  and  felt, 
that  if  such  should  be  the  case,  she  could  not  leave  her  daughter 
alone. 

And  so  Alaric  and  his  wife  sat  down  to  breakfast  on  that  last 
morning.  She  had  brought  their  boy  down ;  but  as  she  per- 
ceived that  the  child's  presence  did  not  please  his  father,  he  had 
been  sent  back  to  the  nursery,  and  they  were  alone.  She  poured 
out  his  tea  for  him,  put  bread  upon  his  plate,  and  then  sat  down 
close  beside  him,  endeavoring  to  persuade  him  to  eat.  She  had 
never  yet  found  fault  with  him,  she  had  never  even  ventured  to 
give  him  counsel,  but  now  she  longed  to  entreat  him  to  collect 
himself  and  take  a  man's  part  in  the  coming  trial.  He  sat  in 
the  seat  prepared  for  him,  but,  instead  of  eating,  he  thrust  his 
hands,  after  his  accustomed  manner,  into  his  pockets,  and  sat 
glowering  at  the  teacups. 

"Come,  Alaric,  won't  you  eat  your  breakfast?"  said  she.    *■' 

"  No ;  breakfast !  no — how  can  I  eat  now  ?  how  can  you  think 
that  I  could  eat  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  Do  you  take  yours ; 
never  mind  me." 

"  But,  dearest,  you  will  be  faint  if  you  do  not  eat ;  think  what 
yon  have  to  go  through  ;  remember  how  many  eyes  will  be  on 
you  to-day." 

He  shuddered  violently  as  she  spoke,  and  motioned  to  her 
with  his  hand  not  to  go  on  with  what  she  was  saying. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  she,  passionately,  "  dearest,  dearest 
love — I  know  how  dreadful  it  is ;  would  that  I  could  bear  it 
for  you !   would  that  I  could !" 

He  turned  away  his  head,  for  a  tear  was  in  his  eye.  It  was 
the  first  that  had  come  to  his  assistance  since  this  sorrow  had 
come  upon  him. 

"  Don't  turn  from  me,  dearest  Alaric  ;  do  not  turn  from  me 
now,  at  our  last  moments.  To  rae,  at  least,  you  are  the  same 
noble  Alaric  that  you  ever  were." 

"Noble!"  said  he,  with  all  the  self-scorn  which  he  so  truly 
felt. 

"  To  me  you  are,  now  as  ever ;  but,  Alaric,  I  do  so  fear  that 
you  will  want  strength — physical  strength,  you  know — to  go 
through  all  this.  I  would  have  you  bear  yourself  like  a  man 
before  them  all." 

"  It  will  be  but  little  matter,"  said  he. 

"  It  will  be  matter.  It  will  be  matter  to  me.  My  darling, 
darling  husband,  rouse  yourself,"  and  she  knelt  before  his  knees 
and  prayed  to  him  :  "  for  my  sake  do  it ;  eat  and  drink  that  you 


416  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

may  have  the  power  of  a  man  when  all  the  world  is  looking  at 
you.  If  God  forgives  us  our  sins,  surely  we  should  so  carry 
ourselves  that  men  may  not  be  ashamed  to  do  so  " 

He  did  not  answer  her,  but  he  turned  to  the  table  and  broke 
the  bread,  and  put  his  lips  to  the  cup.  And  then  she  gave  him 
food  as  she  w^ould  give  it  to  a  child,  and  he  with  a  child's 
obedience  ate  and  drank  what  was  put  before  him.  As  he  did 
so,  every  now  and  again  a  single  tear  forced  itself  beneath  his 
eyelid  and  trickled  down  his  face,  and  in  some  degree  Gertrude 
was  comforted. 

He  had  hardly  finished  his  enforced  breakfast  when  the  cab 
and  the  lawyer  came  to  the  door.  The  learned  gentleman  had 
the  good  taste  not  to  come  in,  and  so  the  servant  told  them  that 
Mr.  Gitemthruet  was  there. 

"  Say  that  your  master  will  be  with  him  in  a  minute,"  said 
Geft'trude,  quite  coolly  ;  and  then  the  room  door  was  again 
closed,  and  the  husband  and  wife  had  now  to  say  adieu. 

Alaric  rose  from  his  chair  and  made  a  faint  attempt  to  smile. 
"  Well,  Gertrude,"  said  he,  "  it  has  come  at  last." 

She  rushed  into  his  embrace,  and  throwing  her  arms  around 
him,  buried  her  face  upon  his  breast.  "  Alaric,  Alaric,  my 
husband  !  my  love,  my  best,  my  own,  my  only  love !" 

"  I  cannot  say  much  now,  Gertrude,  but  I  know  how  good 
you  are ;  you  will  come  and  see  me,  if  they  will  let  you,  won't 
you  ?" 

"  See  you  !"  said  she,  starting  back,  but  still  holding  him  and 
looking  up  earnestly  into  his  face.  "  See  you  !"  and  then  she 
poured  out  her  love  with  all  the  passion  of  a  Ruth  ;  '  Whither 
thou  goest,  I  will  go ;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge. 
******  Where  thou  diest,  will  I  die,  and  there 
will  I  be  buried  ;  the  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught 
but  death  part  thee  and  me.'  See  you,  Alaric  ;  oh,  it  cannot 
be  that  they  will  hinder  the  wife  from  being  with  her  husband. 
But,  Alaric,"  she  went  on,  "  do  not  droop  now,  love — will  you  ?" 

*'  I  cannot  brazen  it  out,"  said  he.  "  I  know  too  well  what  it 
is  that"!  have  done." 

"  No,  not  that,  Alaric  ;  I  would  not  have  that.  But  remem- 
ber, all  is  not  over,  whatever  they  may  do.  Ah,  how  little  will 
really  be  over,  whatever  they  can  do !  You  have  repented, 
have  you  not,  Alaric  ?'* 

"  I  think  so,  I  hope  so,"  said  Alaric,  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground. 

"  You  have  repented,  and  are  right  before  God  ;  do  not  fear 


MR.    CHAFF ANBRASS.  41 7 

then  what  man  can  do  to  you.  I  would  not  have  you  brazen, 
Alaric  ;  but  be  manly,  be  collected,  be  your  own  self,  the  man 
that  I  have  loved,  the  man  that  I  do  now  love  so  well,  better, 
better  than  ever ;"  and  she  threw  herself  on  him  and  kissed 
him  and  clung  to  him,  and  stroked  his  hair,  and  put  her  hand 
upon  his  face,  and  then  holding  him  from  her,  looked  up  to  him 
as  though  he  were  a  hero  whom  she  all  but  worshipped. 

"Gertrude,  Gertrude — that  I  should  have  brought  you  to 
this !" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  she ;  "  we  will  win  through  it  yet — we 
will  yet  be  happy  together,  far,  far  away  from  here — remember 
that — let  that  support  you  through  all.  And  now,  Alaric,  you 
will  come  up  for  one  moment  and  kiss  him  before  you  go." 

"  The  man  will  be  impatient." 

"  Never  mind  ;  let  him  be  impatient — you  shall  not  go  away 
without  blessing  your  boy  ; — come  up,  Alaric."  And  she  took 
him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  like  a  child  into  the  nursery. 

"  Where  is  the  nurse  ?  bring  him  here — papa  is  going  away 
-^Alley,  boy,  give  papa  a  big  kiss." 

Alaric,  for  the  first  time  for  the  fortnight,  took  the  little 
fellow  in  his  arms  and  kissed  him.  "God  bless  you,  my  bairn," 
said  he,  "  and  grant  that  all  this  may  never  be  visited  against 
you,  here  or  hereafter  !" 

"  And  now  go,"  said  Gertrude,  as  they  descended  the  stairs 
together,  "  and  may  God  in  his  mercy  w^atch  over  and  protect 
you  and  give  you  back  to  me !  And,  Alaric,  wherever  you  are  I 
will  be  close  to  you,  remember  that.  I  will  be  quite,  quite 
close  to  you.  Now,  one  kiss — oh,  dearest,  dearest  Alaric — 
there — there — now  go."  And  so  he  went,  and  Gertrude  shut- 
ting herself  into  her  room,  threw  herself  on  to  the  bed,  and 
wept  aloud. 


CHAPTER   XL. 


MR.    CHAFFANBRASS. 

• 

We  must  now  follow  Alaric  to  his  trial.  He  was  of  course 
much  too  soon  at  court.  All  people  always  are,  who  are 
brought  to  the  court  perforce,  criminals,  for  instance,  and  wit- 
nesses, and  other  such-like  unfortunate  wretches  ;  whereas  many 
of  those  who  only  go  there  to  earn  their  bread  are  very  often 
as  much  too  late.  He  was  to  be  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey.  As  I 
have  never  seen  the  place,  and  as  so  many  others  have  seen  it, 

IS" 


418  ^  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  it.  Here  Mr.  Gitemthruet  was 
quite  at  home ;  he  hustled  and  jostled,  elbowed  and  ordered,  as 
though  he  were  the  second  great  man  of  the  place,  and  the 
client  whom  he  was  to  defend  was  the  first.  In  this  latter 
opinion  he  was  certainly  right.  Alaric  was  the  hero  of  the 
day,  and  people  made  way  for  him  as  though  he  had  won  a  vic- 
tory in  India,  and  was  going  to  receive  the  freedom  of  the  city 
in  a  box.  As  he  passed  by,  a  gleam  of  light  fell  on  him  from 
a  window,  and  at  the  instant  three  different  artists  had  him 
photographed,  dagnerreotyped,  and  bedevilled ;  four  graphic 
members  of  the  public  press  took  down  the  details  of  his  hat, 
whiskers,  coat,  trousers,  and  boots ;  and  the  sub-editor  of  the 
"Daily  Delight"  observed  that  "  there  w^as  a  slight  tremor  in 
the  first  footstep  which  he  took  within  the  precincts  of  the 
prison,  but  in  every  other  respect  his  demeanor  was  dignified 
and  his  presence  manly  ;  he  had  light-brown  gloves,  one  of 
which  was  on  his  left  hand,  but  the  other  was  allowed  to  swing 
from  his  fingers.  The  court  was  extremely  crowded,  and  some 
fair  ladies  appeared  to  grace  its  customarily  ungracious  walls. 
On  the  bench  we  observed  Lord  Killtime,  Sir  Gregory  Hard- 
Jines,  and  Mr.  Whip  Vigil.  Mr.  "TJndecimus  Scott,  who  had 
been  summoned  as  a  witness  by  the  prisoner,  was  also  accom- 
modated by  the  sheriffs  with  a  seat."  Such  was  the  opening 
paragraph  of  the  seven  columns  which  were  devoted  by  the 
"Daily  Delight"    to  the  all-absorbing  subject. 

But  Mr.  Gitemthruet  made  his  way  through  artists,  reporters, 
and  the  agitated  crowd,  with  that  happy  air  of  command  w^hich 
can  so  easily  be  assumed  by  men  at  a  moment's  notice,  when 
they  feel  themselves  to  be  for  that  moment  of  importance. 
"  Come  this  way,  Mr.  Tudor ;  follow  me  and  we  will  get  on 
without  any  trouble  ;  just  follow  me  close,"  said  Mr.  Gitem- 
thruet to  his  client,  in  a  whisper  which  was  audible  to  not  a 
few.  Tudor,  who  was  essaying,  and  not  altogether  unsuccess- 
fully, to  bear  the  public  gaze  undismayed,  did  as  he  was  bid,  and 
followed  Mr.  Gitemthruet. 

"  Now,"  said  the  attorney,  "  we'll  sit  here — Mr.  Chaffanbrass 
will  be  close  to  us,  there ;  so  that  I  can  touch  him  up  as  Ave  go 
along  ;  of  course,  you  know,  you  can  make  any  suggestion, 
only  you  must  do  it  through  me.  Here's  his  Lordship  ;  uncom- 
mon well  he  looks,  don't  he  ?  You'd  hardly  believe  him  to  be 
seventy-seven,  but  he's  not  a  day  less,  if  he  isn't  any  more ;  and 
he  has  as  much  work  in  him  yet  as  you  or  I,  pretty  nearly.  If 
you  want  to  insure  a  man's  life,  Mr.  Tudor,  put  him  on  the 


MR.    CHAFF ANBRASS.  419 

bench ;  then  he'll  never  die.  We  lawyers  are  not  like  bishops, 
who  are  always  for  giving  up,  and  going  out  on  a  pension." 

But  Alaric  was  not  at  the  moment  inclined  to  meditate  much 
on  the  long  years  of  judges.  He  was  thinking,  or  perhaps  try- 
ing to  think,  whether  it  would  not  be  better  for  him  to  save 
this  crowd  that  was  now  gathered  together  all  further  trouble, 
and  plead  guilty  at  once.  He  knew  he  was  guilty,  he  could  not 
understand  that  it  was  possible  that  any  juryman  should  have  a 
doubt  about  it ;  he  had  taken  the  money  that  did  not  belong  to 
him:  that  would  be  made  quite  clear ;  he  had  taken  it,  and  had 
not  repaid  it;  there  was  the  absolute  corpus  delicti  in  court,  in 
the  shape  of  a  deficiency  of  some  thousands  of  pounds.  What 
possible  doubt  w^ould  there  be  in  the  breast  of  any  one  as  to  his 
guilt  ?  Why  should  he  vex  his  own  soul  by  making  himself 
for  the  livelong  day  the  gazing-stock  for  the  multitude  ?  Why 
should  he  trouble  all  those  wigged  counsellors,  when  one  word 
from  him  would  set  all  at  rest  ? 

"Mr.  Gitemtbruet,  I  think  I'll  plead  guilty,"  said  he. 

"  Plead  what !"  said  Mr.  Gitemtbruet,  turning  round  upon 
his  client  with  a  sharp  angry  look.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
his  attorney  bad  shown  any  sign  of  disgust,  displeasure,  or  even 
disapprobation  since  he  had  taken  Alaric's  matter  in  hand. 
''Plead  what!  Ah,  you're  joking,  I  know;  upon  my  soul  you 
gave  me  a  start." 

Alaric  endeavored  to  explain  to  him  that  he  was  not  joking, 
nor  in  a  mood  to  joke  ;  but  that  he  really  thought  the  least  vexa- 
tious course  would  be  for  him  to  plead  guilty. 

"  Then  I  tell  you  it  would  be  the  most  vexatious  proceeding 
ever  I  heard  of  in  all  my  practice.  But  you  are  in  my  hands, 
Mr.  Tudor,  and  you  can't  do  it.  You  have  done  me  the  honor 
to  come  to  me,  and  now  you  must  be  ruled  by  me.  Plead 
guilty !  Why,  with  such  a  case  as  you  have  got,  you  would 
disgTace  yourself  for  ever  if  you  did  so.  Think  of  your  friends, 
Mr.  Tudor,  if  yqji  won't  think  of  me  or  of  yourself." 

His  lawyer's  eloquence  converted  him,  and  he  resolved  that 
he  would  run  his  chance.  During  this  time  all  manner  of  little 
legal  preliminaries  had  been  going  on ;  and  now  the  court  was 
ready  for  business ;  the  jury  were  in  the  box,  the  court-keeper 
cried  silence,  and  Mr.  Gitemtbruet  was  busy  among  his  papers 
with  frantic  energy.  But  nothing  was  yet  seen  of  the  great  Mr. 
Ghaff'anbrass. 

"  I  believe  we  may  go  on  with  the  trial  for  breach  of  trust," 
said  the  judge.     "I  do  not  know  why  we  are  waiting." 


420  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

Then  up  and  spoke  Mr.  Younglad,  who  was  Alaric's  junior 
counsel.  Mr.  Younglad  was  a  promising  common-law  barrister, 
now  commencing  his  career,  of  whom  his  friends  were  beginning 
to  hope  that  he  might,  if  he  kept  his  shoulders  well  to  the  col- 
lar, at  some  distant  period,  make  a  living  out  of  his  profession. 
He  was  between  forty  and  forty-five  years  of  age,  and  had 
already  overcome  the  natural  diffidence  of  youth  in  addressing 
a  learned  bench  and  a  crowded  court. 

"  My  lud,"  said  Younglad,  "  my  learned  friend,  Mr.  Chaffan- 
brass,  who  leads  for  the  prisoner,  is  not  yet  in  court.  Perhaps, 
my  lud,  on  behalf  of  my  client,  I  may  ask  for  a  few  moments' 
delay." 

"  And  if  Mr.  Chafi'anbrass  has  undertaken  to  lead  for  the  pri- 
soner, why  is  he  not  in  court  ?"  said  the  judge,  looking  as  though 
he  had  uttered  a  poser  which  must  altogether  settle  Mr.  Young- 
lad's  business. 

But  Mr.  Younglad  had  not  been  sitting,  and  walking,  and 
listening,  let  alone  talking  occasionally,  in  criminal  courts,  for 
the  last  twenty  years,  to  be  settled  so  eabily. 

"  My  lud,  if  your  ludship  will  indulge  me  with  five  minutes' 
^elay — we  will  not  ask  more  than  five  minutes — your  ludship 

knows,  no  one  better,  the  very  onerous  duties " 

"  When  I  was  at  the  bar  I  took  no  briefs  to  which  I  could  not 
attend,"  said  the  judge. 

"I  am  sure  you  did  not,  my  lud;  and  my  learned  friend, 
should  he  ever  sit  in  your  ludship's  seat,  will  be  able  to  say  as 

much  for  himself,  when  at  some  future  time  he  may  be ; 

but,  my  lud,  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  is  now  in  court."  And  as  he 
spoke,  Mr.  Chafi"anbrass,  carrying  in  his  hand  a  huge  old  blue 
bag,  which,  as  he  entered,  he  took  from  his  clerk's  hands,  and 
bearing  on  the  top  of  his  head  a  wig  that  apparently  had  not 
been  dressed  for  the  last  ten  years,  made  his  way  in  among  the 
barristers,  caring  little  on  whose  toes  he  trod,  whose  papers  he 
upset,  or  whom  he  elbowed  on  his  road.  Mr.  iDhaffanbrass  was 
the  cock  of  this  dunghill,  and  well  he  knew  how  to  make  his 
crowing  heard  there. 

"  And  now,  pray,  let  us  lose  no  more  time,"  said  the  judge. 
"  My  lord,  if  time  has  been  lost  through  me,  I  am  very  sorry ; 
but  if  your  lordship's  horse  had  fallen  down  in  the  street  as  mine 

did  just  now " 

"My  horse  never  falls  down  in  the  street,  Mr.  Chaffanbrass." 
"  Some  beasts,  my  lord,  can  always  keep   their  legs  under 
them,  and  others  can't ;  and  men  are  pretty  much  in  the  same 


MR.    CHAFF ANBRASS.  421 

condition.  I  hope  the  former  may  be  the  case  with  yoar  lord- 
ship and  your  lordship's  cob  for  many  years."  The  judge, 
knowing*  of  old  that  nothing  could  prevent  Mr.  Chaffanbrass 
from  having  the  last  word,  now  held  his  peace,  and  the  trial 
began. 

There  are  not  now  too  many  pages  left  to  us  for  the  comple- 
tion of  our  tale  ;  but,  nevertheless,  we  must  say  a  few  words 
about  Mr.  Chaffanbrass.  He  was  one  of  an  order  of  barristers 
by  no  means  yet  extinct,  but  of  whom  it  may  be  said  that  their 
peculiarities  are  somewhat  less  often  seen  than  they  were  when 
Mr.  Chaffanbrass  was  in  his  prime.  He  confined  his  practice 
almost  entirely  to  one  class  of  work,  the  defence,  namely,  of 
culprits  arraigned  for  heavy  crimes,  and  in  this  he  was,  if  not 
unrivalled,  at  least  unequalled.  Rivals  he  had,  who,  thick  as 
the  skins  of  such  men  may  be  presumed  to  be,  not  unfrequently 
writhed  beneath  the  lashes  which  his  tongue  could  inflict.  To 
such  a  perfection  had  he  carried  his  skill  and  power  of  fence,  so 
certain  was  he  in  attack,  so  invulnerable  when  attacked,  that  few 
men  cared  to  come  within  the  reach  of  his  forensic  flail.  To 
the  old  stagers  who  were  generally  opposed  to  him,  the  gentle- 
men who  conducted  prosecutions  on  the  part  of  the  crown,  and 
customarily  spent  their  time  and  skill  in  trying  to  hang  those 
marauders  on  the  public  safety  whom  it  was  the  special  busi- 
ness of  Mr.  Chafl'anbrass  to  preserve  unhung,  to  these  he  was,  if 
not  civil,  at  least  forbearing  ;  but  when  any  barrister,  who  was 
comparatively  a  stranger  to  him,  ventured  to  oppose  him,  there 
was  no  measure  to  his  impudent  sarcasm  and  ofi"ensive  sneers. 

Those,  however,  who  most  dreaded  Mr.  Chafl'anbrass,  and 
who  had  most  occasion  to  do  so,  were  the  witnesses.  A  rival 
lawyer  could  find  a  protection  on  the  bench  when  his  powers 
of  endurance  were  tried  too  far ;  but  a  witness  in  a  court  of 
law  has  no  protection.  He  comes  there  unfeed,  without  hope 
of ^  guerdon,  to  give  such  assistance  to  the  State  in  repressing 
crime  and  assisting  justice  as  his  knowledge  in  this  particular 
case  may  enable  him  to  aff"ord  ;  and  justice,  in  order  to  ascer- 
tain whether  his  testimony  be  true,  finds  it  necessary  to  subject 
him  to  torture.  One  would  naturally  imagine  that  an  undis- 
turbed thread  of  clear  evidence  would  be  best  obtained  from  a 
man  whose  position  was  made  easy  and  whose  mind  was  not 
harassed ;  but  this  is  not  the  fact ;  to  turn  a  witness  to  good 
account,  he  must  be  badgered  this  way  and  that  till  he  is  nearly 
mad  ;  he  must  be  made  a  laughing-stock  for  the  court ;  his 
very  truths  must  be  turned  into  falsehoods,  so  that  he  may  be 


422  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

falsely  shamed  ;  he  must  be  accused  of  all  manner  of  villany, 
threatened  with  all  manner  of  punishment ;  he  must  be  made 
to  feel  that  he  has  no  friend  near  him,  that  the  world  is  all 
against  him ;  he  must  be  confounded  till  he  forget  his  right 
hand  from  his  left,  till  his  mind  be  .arned  into  chaos,  and  his 
heart  into  water ;  and  then  let  him  give  his  evidence.  What 
will  fall  from  his  lips  when  in  this  wretched  collapse  must  be 
of  special  value,  for  the  best  talents  of  practised  forensic  heroes 
are  daily  used  to  bring  it  about ;  and  no  member  of  the  Humane 
Society  interferes  to  protect  the  wretch.  Some  sorts  of  torture 
are  as  it  were  tacitly  allowed  even  among  humane  people. 
Eels  are  skinned  alive,  and  witnesses  are  scarified,  and  no  one's 
blood  curdles  at  the  sight,  no  soft  heart  is  sickened  at  the 
cruelty. 

To  apply  the  thumbscrew,  the  boot,  and  the  rack  to  the 
victim  before  him  was  the  work  of  Mr.  Chaffanbrass's  life. 
And  it  may  be  said  of  him  that  the  labor  he  delighted  in 
physicked  pain.  He  was  as  little  averse  to  this  toil  as  the  cat 
is  to  that  of  catching  mice.  And,  indeed,  he  was  not  unlike  a 
cat  in  his  method  of  proceeding  ;  for  he  would,  as  it  were,  hold 
his  prey  for  a  while  between  his  paws,  and  pat  him  with  gentle 
taps  before  he  tore  him.  He  would  ask  a  few  civil  little  ques- 
tions in  his  softest  voice,  glaring  out  of  his  wicked  old  eye  as  he 
did  so  at  those  around  him,  and  then,  when  he  had  his  mouse 
well  in  hand,  out  would  come  his  envenomed  claw,  and  the 
wretched  animal  would  feel  the  fatal  w^ound  in  his  tenderest  part. 

Mankind,  in  general,  take  pleasure  in  cruelty,  though  those 
who  are  civilized  abstain  from  it  on  principle.  On  the  whole 
Mr.  Chaffanbrass  is  popular  at  the  Old  Bailey.  Men  congre- 
gate to  hear  him  turn  a  witness  inside  out,  and  chuckle  Avith 
an  inward  pleasure  at  the  success  of  his  cruelty.  This  Mr. 
Chaflfanbrass  knows,  and  like  an  actor  who  is  kept  up  to  his 
high  mark  by  the  necessity  of  maintaining  his  character,  he 
never  allows  himself  to  grow  dull  over  his  work.  Therefore 
Mr.  Chaffanbrass  bullies  when  it  is  quite  unnecessary  that  he 
should  bully ;  it  is  a  labor  of  love ;  and  though  he  is  now  old, 
and  stiff  in  his  joints,  though  ease  would  be  dear  to  him,  though 
like  a  gladiator  satiated  with  blood,  he  would  as  regards  him- 
self be  so  pleased  to  sheath  his  sword,  yet  he  never  spares 
himself.  He  never  spares  himself,  and  he  never  spares  his 
victim. 

As  a  lawyer,  in  the  broad  and  high  sense  of  the  word,  it 
may  be  presumed  that  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  knows  little  or  nothing. 


MR.    CHAFPANBRASS.  423 

He  has,  indeed,  no  occasion  for  such  knowledge.  His  business 
is  to  perplex  a  witness  and  bamboozle  a  jury,  and  in  doing  that 
he  is  generally  successful.  He  seldom  cares  for  carrying  the 
judge  with  him  :  such  tactics,  indeed,  as  his,  are  not  likely  to 
tell  upon  a  judge.  That  which  he  loves  is,  that  a  judge  should 
charge  against  him,  and  a  jury  give  a  verdict  in  his  favor. 
When  he  achieves  that  he  feels  that  he  has  earned  his  money. 
Let  others,  the  young  lads  and  spooneys  of  his  profession, 
undertake  the  milk-and-water  work  of  defending  injured  inno- 
cense  ;•  it  is  all  but  an  insult  to  his  practised  ingenuity  to  invite 
his  assistance  to  such  tasteless  business.  Give  him  a  case  in 
which  he  has  all  the  world  against  him;  Justice  with  her 
sword  raised  high  to  strike ;  Truth  with  open  mouth  and 
speaking  eyes  to  tell  the  bloody  tale ;  outraged  humanity 
shrieking  for  punishment;  a  case  from  which  Mercy  herself, 
with  averted  eyes,  has  loathing  turned  and  bade  her  sterner 
sister  do  her  work ;  give  him  such  a  case  as  this,  and  then  you 
will  see  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  in  his  glory.  Let  him,  by  the  use 
of  his  high  art,  rescue  from  the  gallows  and  turn  loose  upon 
the  world  the  wretch  whose  hands  are  reeking  with  the  blood 
of  father,  mother,  wife,  and  brother,  and  you  may  see  Mr. 
Chaffanbrass,  elated  with  conscious  worth,  rub  his  happy  hands 
with  infinite  complacency.  Then  will  his  ambition  be  satisfied, 
and  he  will  feel  that  in  the  verdict  of  the  jury  he  has  received 
the  honor  due  to  his  genius.  He  will  have  succeeded  in  turn- 
ing black  into  white,  in  washing  the  blackamoor,  in  dressing 
in  the  fair  robe  of  innocence  the  foulest,  filthiest  wretch  of  his 
day ;  and  as  he  returns  to  his  home,  he  will  be  proudly  con- 
scious that  he  is  no  little  man. 

In  person,  however,  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  is  a  little  man,  and  a 
very  dirty  little  man.  He  has  all  manner  of  nasty  tricks  about 
him,  which  make  him  a  disagreeable  neighbor  to  barristers  sit- 
ting near  to  him.  He  is  profuse  with  snuff,  and  very  generous 
with  his  handkerchief.  He  is  always  at  work  upon  his  teeth, 
which  do  not  do  much  credit  to  his  industry.  His  wig  is  never 
at  ease  upon  his  head,  but  is  poked  about  by  him,  sometimes 
over  one  ear,  sometimes  over  the  other,  now  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  then  on  his  nose  ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  in  which 
guise  he  looks  most  cruel,  most  sharp,  and  most  intolerable. 
His  linen  is  never  clean,  his  hands  never  washed,  and  his  clothes 
apparently  never  new.  He  is  about  five  feet  six  in  height,  anrl 
even  with  that  stoops  greatly.  His  custom  is  to  lean  forward, 
resting  with  both  hands  on  the  sort  of  desk  before  him,  and  then 


424  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

to  fix  his  small  brown  basilisk  eye  on  the  victim  in  the  box  before 
him.  In  this  position  he  will  remain  nnmoved  by  the  hour 
together,  unless  the  elevation  and  fall  of  his  thick  eyebrows  and 
the  partial  closing  of  his  wicked  eyes  can  be  called  motion.  But 
his  tongue  !  that  moves ;  there  is  the  weapon  which  he  knows 
how  to  use  ! 

Such  is  Mr.  ChafFanbrass  in  public  life ;  and  those  who  only 
know  him  in  public  life  can  hardly  believe  that  at  home  he  is 
one  of  the  most  easy,  good-tempered,  amiable  old  gentlemen  that 
ever  was  pooh-poohed  by  his  grown-up  daughters,  and  occasion- 
ally told  to  keep  himself  quiet  in  a  corner.  Such,  however,  is 
his  private  character.  Not  that  he  is  a  fool  in  his  own  house  ; 
Mr.  ChafFanbrass  can  never  be  a  fool ;  but  he  is  so  essentially 
good-natured,  so  devoid  of  any  feeling  of  domestic  tyranny,  so 
placid  in  his  domesticities,  that  he  chooses  to  be  ruled  by  his 
own  children.  But  in  his  own  way  he  is  fond  of  hospitality  ; 
he  delights  in  a  cosy  glass  of  old  port  with  an  old  friend  in 
whose  company  he  may  be  allowed  to  sit  in  his  old  coat  and  old 
slippers.  He  delights  also  in  his  books,  in  his  daughters'  music, 
and  in  three  or  four  live  pet  dogs,  and  birds,  and  squirrels,  whom 
morning  and  night  he  feeds  with  his  own  hands.  He  is  chari- 
table, too,  and  subscribes  largely  to  hospitals  founded  for  the 
relief  of  the  suffering  poor. 

Such  was  Mr.  Chaffanbrass,  who  had  been  selected  by  the 
astute  Mr.  Gitemthruet  to  act  as  leading  counsel  on  behalf  of 
Alaric.  If  any  human  wisdom  could  effect  the  escape  of  a  client 
in  such  jeopardy,  the  wisdom  of  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  would  be  likely 
to  do  it ;  but,  in  truth,  the  evidence  was  so  strong  against  him, 
that  even  this  Newgate  hero  almost  feared  the  result. 

I  will  not  try  the  patience  of  any  one  by  stating  in  detail  all 
the  circumstances  of  the  trial.  In  doing  so  I  should  only  copy, 
or,  at  any  rate,  might  copy,  the  proceedings  at  some  of  those 
modern  causes  cel^h^es  with  which  all  those  who  love  such  sub- 
jects are  familiar.  And  why  should  I  force  such  matters  on 
those  who  do  not  love  them  ?  The  usual  opening  speech  was 
made  by  the  chief  man  on  the  prosecuting  side,  who,  in  the 
usual  manner,  declared  "that  his  only  object  was  justice;  that 
his  heart  bled  within  him  to  see  a  man  of  such  acknowledged 
public  utility  as  Mr.  Tudor  in  such  a  position  ;  that  he  sincerely 
hoped  that  the  jury  might  find  it  possible  to  acquit  him,  but 

that "     And  then  went  into  his  "  but  "  with  so  much  venom 

that  it  was  clearly  discernible  to  all,  that  in  spite  of  his  protes- 
tations, his  heart  was  set  upon  a  conviction. 


MR.    CIIAFFANBRASS.  425 

When  he  ha<l  finished,  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution 
were  called, — the  poor  wretches  whose  fate  it  was  to  be  impaled 
alive  that  day  by  Mr.  ChafFanbrass.  They  gave  their  evidence, 
and  in  due  course  were  impaled.  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  had  never 
been  greater.  The  day  was  hot,  and  he  thrust  his  wig  back 
till  it  stuck  rather  on  the  top  of  his  coat-collar  than  on  his 
head ;  his  forehead  seemed  to  come  out  like  the  head  of  a  dog 
from  his  kennel,  and  he  grinned  with  his  black  teeth,  and  his 
savage  eyes  twinkled,  till  the  witnesses  sank  almost  out  of  sight 
as  they  gazed  at  him. 

And  yet  they  had  very  little  to  prove,  and  nothing  that  he 
could  disprove.  They  had  to  speak  merely  to  certain  banking 
transactions,  to  say  that  certain  moneys  had  been  so  paid  in  and 
so  drawn  out,  in  stating  which  they  had  their  office  books  to 
depend  on.  But  not  the  less  on  this  account  were  they  made 
victims.  To  one  clerk  it  was  suggested  that  he  might  now  and 
then,  once  in  three  months  or  so,  make  an  error  in  a  figure ; 
and,  having  acknowledged  this,  he  was  driven  about  until  he 
admitted  that  it  was  very  possible  that  every  entry  he  made  in 
the  bank  books  in  the  course  of  the  year  was  false.  "  And 
you,  such  as  you,"  said  Mr.  ChafFanbrass,  "do  you  dare  to 
come  forward  to  give  evidence  on  commercial  affairs  ?  Go 
down,  sir,  and  hide  your  ignominy."  The  wretch,  convinced 
that  he  was  ruined  for  ever,  slunk  out  of  Court,  and  was 
ashamed  to  show  himself  at  his  place  of  business  for  the  next 
three  days. 

There  were  ten  or  twelve  witnesses,  all  much  of  the  same 
sort^  who  proved  among  them  that  this  sum  of  twenty  thousand 
pounds  had  been  placed  at  Alaric's  disposal,  and  that  now,  alas  I 
the  twenty  thousand  pounds  were  not  forthcoming.  It  seemed 
to  be  a  very  simple  case  ;  and,  to  Alaric's  own  understanding, 
it  seemed  impossible  that  his  counsel  should  do  anything  for 
him.  But  as  each  impaled  victim  shrunk  with  agonised  terror 
from  the  torture,  Mr.  Gitemthruet  would  turn  round  to  Alaric 
and  assure  him  that  they  were  going  on  well,  quite  as  well  as 
he  had  expected.  Mr.  ChafFanbrass  was  really  exerting  him- 
self; and  when  Mr.  ChafFanbrass  did  really  exert  himself  he 
rarely  failed. 

And  so  the  long  day  faded  itself  away  in  the  hot  sweltering 
court,  and  his  lordship,  at  about  seven  o'clock,  declared  bis 
intention  of  adjourning.  Of  course  a  cause  celehre  such  as 
this  was  not  going  to  decide  itself  in  one  day.  Alaric's  guilt 
was  clear  as  daylight  to  all  concerned ;  but  a  man  who  had 


426  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

risen  to  be  a  Civil  Service  Commissioner,  and  to  be  intrusted 
with  the  guardianship  of  twenty  thousand  pounds,  was  not  to 
be  treated  like  a  butcher  who  had  merely  smothered  his  wife 
in  an  ordinary  way,  or  a  house-breaker  who  had  followed  his 
professional  career  to  its  natural  end  ;  more  than  that  was  due 
to  the  rank  and  station  of  the  man,  and  to  the  very  respectable 
retaining  fee  with  which  Mr.  Gitemthruet  had  found  himself 
enabled  to  secure  the  venom  of  Mr,  Chaffanbrass,  So  the  jury 
retired  to  regale  themselves  en  masse  at  a  neighboring  coffee- 
house ;  Alaric  was  again  permitted  to  be  at  large  on  bail  (the 
amiable  policeman  in  mufti  still  attending  him  at  a  distance)  ; 
and  Mr.  Chaifanbrass  and  his  lordship  retired  to  prepare  them- 
selves by  rest  for  the  morrow's  labors. 

But  what  was  Alaric  to  do  ?  He  soon  found  himself  under 
the  guardianship  of  the  constant  Gitemthruet  in  a  neighboring 
tavern,  and  his  cousin  Charley  was  with  him.  Charley  had 
been  in  court  the  whole  day,  except  that  he  had  twice  posted 
down  to  the  West  End  in  a  cab  to  let  Gertrude  and  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward know  how  things  were  going  on.  He  had  posted  down 
and  posted  back  again,  and,  crowded  as  the  court  had  been,  he 
had  contrived  to  make  his  way  in,  using  that  air  of  authority 
to  which  the  strongest-minded  policeman  will  always  bow  ;  till 
at  last  the  very  policemen  assisted  him,  as  though  he  were  in 
some  way  connected  with  the  tril. 

On  his  last  visit  at  Gertrude's  house  he  had  told  her  that  it 
was  very  improbable  that  the  trial  should  be  finished  that  day. 
She  had  then  said  nothing  as  to  Alaric's  return  to  his  own 
house ;  it  had  indeed  not  occurred  to  her  that  he  would  be  at 
liberty  to  do  so  :  Charley  at  once  caught  at  this,  and  strongly 
recommended  his  cousin  to  remain  where  he  was.  "  You  will 
gain  nothing  by  going  home,"  said  he  ;  "  Gertrude  does  not  ex- 
pect you  ;  Mrs.  Woodward  is  there  ;  and  it  will  be  better  for 
all  parties  that  you  should  remain."  Mr.  Gitemthruet  strongly 
backed  his  advice,  and  Alaric,  so  counselled,  resolved  to  remain 
where  he  was.  Charley  promised  to  stay  with  him,  and  the 
policeman  in  mufti,  without  making  any  promise  at  all,  silently 
acquiesced  in  the  arrangement.  Charley  made  one  more  visit 
to  the  West,  saw  Norman  at  his  lodgings,  and  Mrs.  Woodward 
and  Gertrude  in  Albany  Place,  and  then  returned  to  make  a 
night  of  it  with  Alaric.  We  need  hardly  say  that  Charley 
made  a  night  of  it  in  a  very  diflferent  manner  from  that  to 
which  he  and  his  brother  navvies  were  so  well  accustomed. 


THE   OLD   BAILEY.  427 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  OLD  BAILEY. 


The  next  morning,  at  ten  o'clock,  the  court  was  again  crowded. 
Tlie  judge  was  again  on  his  bench,  prepared  for  patient  endur- 
ance ;  and  Lord  Killtime  and  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  were 
alongside  of  him.  The  jury  were  again  in  their  box,  ready 
with  pen  and  paper  to  give  their  brightest  attention — a  bright- 
ness which  will  be  dim  enough  before  the  long  day  be  over; 
the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  were  rummaging  aaiong  their 
papers ;  the  witnesses  for  the  defence  were  sitting*  there  among 
the  attorneys,  with  the  exception  of  the  Honorable  Undecimus 
Scott,  wlio  was  accommodated  with  a  seat  near  the  sheriff,  and 
whose  heart,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  sinking  somewhat  low  within 
his  breast,  in  spite  of  the  glass  of  brandy  with  which  he  had 
fortified  himself.  Alaric  was  again  present  under  the  wings  of 
Mr.  Gitemthruet ;  and  the  great  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  was  in  his 
place.  He  was  leaning  over  a  slip  of  paper  which  he  held  in 
his  hand,  and  with  compressed  lips  was  meditating  his  attack 
upon  his  enemies ;  on  this  occasion  his  wig  was  well  over  his 
eyes,  and  as  he  peered  up  from  under  it  to  the  judge's  face,  he 
cocked  his  nose  with  an  air  of  supercilious  contempt  for  all 
those  who  were  immediately  around  him. 

It  was  for  him  to  begin  the  day's  sport  by  making  a  speech, 
not  so  much  in  defence  of  his  client  as  in  accusation  of  the 
prosecutors.  "It  had  never,"  he  said,  "been  his  fate,  he  might 
say  his  misfortune,  to  hear  a  case  against  a  man  in  a  respectable 
position,  opened  by  the  Crown  with  such  an  amount  of  enve- 
nomed virulence."  He  was  then  reminded  that  the  prosecution 
was  not  carried  on  by  the  Crown.  "  Then,"  said  he,  "  we  may 
attribute  this  virulence  to  private  malice;  that  it  is  not  to  be 
attributed  to  any  fear  that  this  English  bride  should  lose  her 
fortune,  or  that  her  French  husband  should  be  deprived  of  any 
portion  of  his  spoil,  I  shall  be  able  to  prove  to  a  certainty.  Did 
I  allow  myself  that  audacity  of  denunciation  which  my  learned 
friend  has  not  considered  incompatible  with  the  dignity  of  his 
new  silk  gown  ?  Could  I  permit  myself  such  latitude  of  invec- 
tive as  he  has  adopted? " — a  slight  laugh  was  here  heard  in  the 
court,  and  an  involuntary  smile  played  across  the  j  udge's  face — 
"yes,"  continued  Mr.  Chaffanbrass,  "I  boldly  aver  that  I  have 


428  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

never  forgotten  myself,  and  what  is  due  to  humanity,  as  my 
learned  friend  did  in  his  address  to  the  jury.  Gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  you  will  not  confound  the  natural  indignation  W'hich 
counsel  must  feel  w^hen  defending  innocence  from  the  false 
attacks,  with  the  uncalled-for,  the  unprofessional  acerbity  which 
has  now  been  used  in  promoting  such  an  accusation  as  this.  I 
may  at  times  be  angry,  when  I  see  mean  falsehood  before  me 
in  vain  assuming  the  garb  of  truth — for  with  such  juries  as  I 
meet  here  it  generally  is  in  vain — I  may  at  times  forget  myself 
in  anger ;  but,  if  we  talk  of  venom,  virulence,  and  eager  hos- 
tility, I  yield  the  palm,  without  a  contest,  to  my  learned  ft-iend 
in  the  new  silk  gown." 

He  then  went  on  to  dispose  of  the  witnesses  whom  they  had 
heard  on  the  previous  day,  and  expressed  a  regret  that  an  ex2)ose 
should  have  been  made  so  disgraceful  to  the  commercial  esta- 
blishments of  this  great  commercial  city.  It  only  showed  what 
was  the  effect  on  such  establishments  of  that  undue  parsimony 
which  was  now  one  of  the  crying  evils  of  the  times.  Having 
thus  shortly  disposed  of  them,  he  came  to  wdiat  all  men  kncAV 
was  the  real  interest  of  the  day's  doings.  "  But,"  said  he,  "the 
evidence  in  this  case,  to  which  your  attention  will  be  chiefly 
directed,  will  be,  not  that  for  the  accusation,  but  that  for  the 
defence.  It  will  be  my  business  to  show  to  you,  not  only  that 
my  client  is  guiltless,  but  to  what  temptations  tc  be  guilty  he 
has  been  purposely  and  wickedly  subjected.  I  shall  put  into  that 
bar  an  honorable  member  of  the  House  of  Commons,  who  will 
make  some  revelations  as  to  his  own  life,  who  will  give  us  an 
insight  into  the  ways  and  means  of  a  legislator,  which  will 
probably  surprise  us  all,  not  excluding  his  lordship  on  the  bench. 
He  will  be  able  to  explain  to  us — and  I  trust  I  may  be  able  to 
induce  him  to  do  so,  for  it  is  possible  that  he  may  be  a  little 
coy — he  will  be  able  to  explain  to  us  why  my  client,  who  is  in 
no  way  connected  either  with  the  Scotts,  or  the  Golightlys,  or 
the  Figgs,  or  the  Jaquetanapes,  why  he  was  made  the  lady's 
trustee  ;  and  he  will  also,  perhaps,  tell  us,  after  some  slight, 
gentle  persuasion,  whether  he  has  himself  handled,  or  attempted 
to  handle,  any  of  this  lady's  money." 

Mr.  ChafFanbrass  then  went  on  to  state  that,  as  the  forms  of 
the  court  would  not  give  him  the  power  of  addressing  the  jury 
again,  he  must  now  explain  to  them  what  he  conceived  to  be 
the  facts  of  the  case.  He  then  admitted  that  his  client,  in  his 
anxiety  to  do  the  best  he  could  with  the  fortune  intrusted  to 
him,  had  invested  it  badly.  The  present  fate  of  these  unfortunate 


THE    OLD   BAILEY.  429 

bridge  shares,  as  to  wliicli  the  commercial  world  had  late'y 
held  so  many  different  opinions,  proved  that ;  but  it  had,  never- 
theless, been  a  bond  fide  investment,  made  in  conjunction  wilh, 
and  by  the  advice  of,  Mr.  Scott,  the  lady's  uncle,  who  thus, 
for  his  own  purposes,  got  possession  of  money  which  was  in 
truth  confided  to  him  for  other  purposes.  His  client,  Mr. 
Chaffanbrass  acknowledged,  had  behaved  with  great  indiscretion  ; 
but  the  moment  he  found  tkat  the  investment  would  be  an 
injurious  one  to  the  lady  whose  welfare  was  in  his  hands,  he  at 
once  resolved  to  make  good  the  whole  amount  from  his  own 
pocket.  That  he  had  done  so,  or,  at  any  rate,  would  have  done 
so,  but  for  this  trial,  would  be  proved  to  them.  Nobler  conduct 
than  this  it  was  impossible  to  imagine.  Whereas,  the  lady's 
uncle,  the  honorable  member  of  Parliament,  the  gentleman 
who  had  made  a  stalking-horse  of  his,  Mr.  Chaffanbrass'  client, 
refused  to  refund  a  penny  of  the  spoil,  and  was  now  the  instiga- 
tor of  this  most  unjust  proceeding. 

As  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  thus  finished  his  oration,  Undy  Scott 
tried  to  smile  complacently  on  those  around  him.  But  why  did 
the  big  drops  of  sweat  stand  on  his  brow  as  his  eye  involuntarily 
caught  those  of  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  ?  Why  did  he  shuffle  his  feet, 
and  uneasily  move  his  hands  and  feet  hither  and  thither,  as  a 
man  does  when  he  tries  in  vain  to  be  unconcerned  ?  Why  did 
he  pull  his  gloves  on  and  off,  and  throw  himself  back  with  that 
aff"ected  air  which  is  so  unusual  to  him  ?  All  the  court  was 
looking  at  him,  and  every  one  knew  that  he  was  wretched. 
Wretched !  ay,  indeed  he  was ;  for  the  assurance  even  of  an 
Undy  Scott,  the  hardened  man  of  the  clubs,  the  thrice  elected 
and  twice  rejected  of  Tillietudlem,  fell  prostrate  before  the  well- 
know^n  hot  pincers  of  Chaffanbrass,  the  torturer  ! 

The  first  witness  called  was  Henry  Norman.  Alaric  looked 
up  for  a  moment  with  surprise,  and  then  averted  his  eyes.  Mr. 
Gitemthruet  had  concealed  from  him  the  fact  that  Norman  was 
to  be  called.  He  merely  proved  this,  that  having  heard  from 
Mrs.  Woodward,  who  was  the  prisoner's  mother-in-law,  and 
would  soon  be  his  own  mother-in-law,  that  a  deficiency 
had  been  alleged  to  exist  in  the  fortune  of  Madame 
Jaquetanape,  he  had,  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Woodward,  produced 
what  he  believed  would  cover  this  deficiency,  and  that  when  he 
had  been  informed  that  more  money  was  wanting,  he  had 
oflfered  to  give  security  that  the  whole  should  be  paid  in  six 
months.  Of  course,  on  him  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  exercised  none  of 
his  terrible  skill,  and  as  the  lawyers  on  the  other  side  declined 


430  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

to  cross-examine  him,  he  was  soon  able  to  leave  the  court.  This 
he  did  speedily,  for  he  had  no  desire  to  witness  Alaric's  misery. 
And  then  the  Honorable  TJndecimus  Scott  was  put  into  the 
witness-box.  It  was  suggested,  on  his  behalf,  that  he  might 
give  his  evidence  from  the  seat  which  he  then  occupied,  but 
this  Mr.  ChafFanbrass  would  by  no  means  allow.  His  intercourse 
with  Mr.  Scott,  he  said,  must  be  of  a  nearer,  closer,  and  more 
confidential  nature  than  such  an  arrangement  as  that  would 
admit.  A  witness,  to  his  way  of  thinking,  was  never  an  efficient 
witness  till  he  had  his  arm  on  the  rail  of  a  witness-box.  He 
must  trouble  Mr.  Scott  to  descend  from  the  grandeur  of  his 
present  position  ;  he  might  return  to  his  seat  after  he  had  been 
examined — if  he  then  should  have  a  mind  to  do  so.  Our  friend 
Undy  found  that-  he  had  to  obey,  and  he  was  soon  confronted 
with  Mr.  ChafFanbrass  in  the  humbler  manner  which  that 
gentleman  thought  so  desirable. 

"  You  are  a  member  of  the  House  of  Commons,  I  believe, 
Mr.  Scott  ?"  began  Mr.  Chaffanbrass. 

Undy  acknowledged  that  he  was  so. 

"  And  you  are  the  son  of  a  peer,  I  believe  ?" 

"  A  Scotch  peer,"  said  Undy. 

"  Oh,  a  Scotch  peer,"  said  Mr.  ChafFanbrass,  bringing  his  wig- 
forward  over  his  left  eye  in  a  manner  that  was  almost  irresisti- 
ble— "  a  Scotch  peer — a  member  of  Parliament,  and  son  of  a 
Scotch  peer ;  and  you  have  been  a  member  of  the  Government, 
I  believe,  Mr.  Scott  ?" 

Undy  confessed  that  he  had  been  in  office  for  a  short  time. 

"  A  member  of  Parliament,  a  son  of  a  peer,  and  one  of  the 
Government  of  this  great  and  free  country.  You  ought  to  be 
a  proud  and  a  happy  man.  You  are  a  man  of  fortune,  too,  I 
believe,  Mr.  Scott  ?" 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  opinion,"  said  Undy  ;  "  different  people 
have  difFerent  ideas.     I  don't  know  what  you  call  fortune." 

"  Why  I  call  20,000Z  a  fortune— this  sum  that  the  lady  had 
who  married  the  Frenchman.     Have  you  20,000Z  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  answer  that  question." 

"Have  you  10,000/?  You  surely  must  have  as  much  as 
that,  as  I  know  you  married  a  fortune  yourself — unless,  indeed, 
a  false-hearted  trustee  has  got  hold  of  your  money  also.  Come, 
have  you  got  10,000n" 

"  I  shall  not  answer  you." 

"  Have  you  got  any  income  at  all  ?  Now,  I  demand  an  an- 
swer to  that  on  vour  oath,  sir." 


THE    OLD    BAILEY.  431 

"  My  lord,  must  I  answer  such  questions  ?"  said  Undy. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  you  must  answer  them,  and  many  more  like  them," 
said  Mr.  ChafFanbrass.  "  My  lord,  it  is  essential  to  my  client 
that  I  should  prove  to  the  jury  whether  this  witness  is  or  is  not 
a  penniless  adventurer ;  if  he  be  a  respectable  member  of  so- 
ciety, he  can  have  no  objection  to  let  me  know  whether  he  has 
the  means  of  living." 

"  Perhaps,  Mr.  Scott,"  said  the  judge,  "  you  will  not  object  to 
state  whether  or  no  you  possess  any  fixed  income." 

"  Have  you,  or  have  you  not,  got  an  income  on  which  you 
live  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Chaffanbrass. 

"  I  have  an  income,"  said  Undy,  not,  however,  in  a  voice  that 
betokened  much  self-confidence  in  the  strength  of  his  own  an- 
swer. 

"  You  have  an  income,  have  you  ?  And  now,  Mr.  Scott,  will 
you  tell  us  what  profession  you  follow  at  this  moment  with  the 
object  of  increasing  your  income  ?  I  think  we  may  surmise,  by 
the  tone  of  your  voice,  that  your  income  is  not  very  abundant." 

"  I  have  no  profession,"  said  Undy. 

"  On  your  oath,  you  are  in  no  profession  ?" 

"  Not  at  present." 

"  On  your  oath,  you  are  not  a  stock-jobber  ?" 

Undy  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  By  the  virtue  of  your  oath,  sir,  are  you  a  stock-jobber,  or 
are  you  not  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not.     At  least,  I  believe  not." 

"  You  believe  not !"  said  Mr.  ChafFanbrass — and  it  would 
have  been  necessary  to  hear  the  tone  in  which  this  was  said  to 
understand  the  derision  which  was  implied.  "  You  believe  you 
are  not  a  stock-jobber !  Are  you,  or  are  you  not,  constantly 
buying  shares  and  selling  shares — railway  shares — bridge  shares 
— mining  shares — and  such-like  ?" 

"  I  sometimes  buy  shares." 

"And  sometimes  sell  them  ?" 

"Yes — and  sometimes  sell  them." 

Where  Mr.  Chaflfanbrass  had  got  his  exact  information,  we 
cannot  say ;  but  very  exact  information  he  had  acquired  re- 
specting Undy's  little  transactions.  He  questioned  him  about 
the  Mary  Janes  and  Old  Friendships,  about  the  West  Corks  and 
the  Ballydehob  Branch,  about  sundry  other  railways  and  canals, 
and  finally  gfbout  the  Limehouse  Bridge ;  and  then  again  he 
asked  his  former  question.  "  And  now,"  said  he,  "  will  you  tell 
the  jury  whether  you  are  a  stock-jobber  or  no  ?" 


432  TUE   THKEE   CLEKKS. 

"  It  is  all  a  matter  of  opinion,"  said  JJudy.  "  Pei-Laps  I  may 
be,  in  your  sense  of  the  word." 

"  My  sense  of  the  word !"  said  Mr.  ChafFanbrass.  "  You  are 
as  much  a  stock-jobber,  sir,  as  that  man  is  a  policeman,  or  his 
lordship  is  a  judge.  And  now,  Mr.  Scott,  I  am  sorry  that  I 
must  go  back  to  your  private  affairs,  respecting  which  you  are 
so  unwilling  to  speak.  I  fear  I  must  trouble  you  to  tell  me 
this — How  did  you  raise  the  money  with  which  you  bought 
that  latter  batch — the  large  lump  of  the  bridge  shares — of 
which  we  w^ere  speaking  ?" 

"  I  borrowed  it  from  Mr.  Tudor,"  said  IJndy,  who  had  pre- 
pared himself  to  answer  this  question  glibly. 

"  You  borrowed  it  from  Mr.  Alaric  Tudor — that  is,  from  the 
gentleman  now  upon  his  trial.  You  borrowed  it,  I  believe,  just 
at  the  time  that  he  became  the  lady's  trustee  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Undy;  "  I  did  so." 
•   "  You  have  not  repaid  him  as  yet  ?" 

"  No — not  yet,"  said  Undy. 

"  I  thought  not.  Can  you  at  all  say  when  Mr.  Tudor  may 
probably  get  his  money  ?" 

"  I  am  not  at  present  prepared  to  name  a  day.  When  the 
money  was  lent  it  was  not  intended  that  it  should  be  repaid  at 
an  early  day." 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Tudor  did  not  want  his  money  at  an  early  day — 
didn't  he?  But,  nevertheless,  he  has,  I  believe,  asked  for  it 
since,  and  that  very  pressingly  ?" 

"  He  has  never  asked  for  it,"  said  TJndy. 

"  Allow  me  to  remind  you,  Mr.  Scott,  that  I  have  the  power 
of  putting  my  client  into  that  witness-box,  although  he  is  on  his 
trial;  and,  having  so  reminded  you,  let  me  again  beg  you  to 
say  whether  he  has  not  asked  you  for  repayment  of  this  large 
sum  of  money  very  pressingly." 

"  No  ;  he  has  never  done  so." 

"  By  the  value  of  your  oath,  sir — if  it  has  any  value — did  not 
ray  client  beseech  you  to  allow  these  shares  to  be  sold  while 
they  were  yet  saleable,  in  order  that  your  niece's  trust  money 
might  be  replaced  in  the  English  funds?" 

"  He  said  something  as  to  the  expediency  of  selling  them, 
and  I  differed  from  him." 

"  You  thought  it  would  be  better  for  the  lady's  interest  that 
they  should  remain  unsold  ?" 

"  I  made  no  question  of  the  lady's  interest.  I  was  not  her 
trustee" 


THE    OLD    BAILEY.  43^ 

"  But  the  shares  were  bought  with  the  lady's  money." 

"  What  shares  ?"  asked  Undy. 

"  What  shares,  sir  ?  Those  shares  which  yon  had  professed 
to  hold  on  the  lady's  behalf,  and  which  afterwards  you  did  not 
scruple  to  call  your  own.  Those  shares  of  yours — since  you 
have  the  deliberate  dishonesty  so  to  call  them — those  shares  of 
yours,  were  they  not  bought  with  the  lady's  money?" 

"  They  were  bought  with  the  money  which  I  borrowed  from 
Mr.  Tudor." 

"And  where  did  Mr.  Tudor  get  the  money?" 

"  That  is  a  question  you  must  ask  himself,"  said  Undy. 

"  It  is  a  question,  sir,  that  just  at  present  I  prefer  to  ask  you. 
Now,  sir,  be  good  enough  to  tell  the  jury  whence  Mr.  Tudor 
got  that  money;  or  tell  them,  if  you  dare  to  do  so,  that  you  do 
not  know." 

Undy  for  a  minute  remained  sJIent,  and  Mr.  Chaffanbrass 
remained  silent  also.  But  if  the  fury  of  his  tongue  for  a  mo- 
ment was  at  rest,  that  of  his  eyes  was  as  active  as  ever.  He 
kept  his  gaze  steadily  fixed  upon  the  witness,  and  stood  there 
with  compressed  lips,  still  resting  on  his  two  hands,  as  though 
he  were  quite  satisfied  thus  to  watch  the  prey  that  was  in  his 
power.  For  an  instant  he  glanced  up  to  the  jury,  and  then 
allowed  his  eyes  to  resettle  on  the  face  of  the  witness,  as  though 
he  might  have  said,  ''  There,  gentlemen,  there  he  is — the  son 
of  a  peer,  a  member  of  Parliament ;  what  do  you  think  of  him?" 

The  silence  of  that  minute  was  horrible  to  Undy,  and  yet  he 
could  hardly  bring  himself  to  break  it.  The  judge  looked  at 
him  with  eyes  which  seemed  to  read  his  inmost  soul ;  the  jury 
looked  at  him,  condemning  him  one  and  all ;  Alaric  looked  at 
him  with  fierce,  glaring  eyes  of  hatred,  the  same  eyes  that  had 
glared  at  him  that  night  when  he  had  been  collared  in  the 
street;  the  whole  crowd  looked  at  him  derisively;  but  the  eyes 
of  them  all  were  as  nothing  to  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Chafi"anbrass. 

"  I  never  saw  him  so  great ;  I  never  did,"  said  Mr.  Gitem- 
thruet,  whispering  to  his  client ;  and  Alaric,  even  he,  felt  some 
consolation  in  the  terrible  discomfiture  of  his  enemy. 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  got  it,"  said  Undy,  at  last,  breaking 
the  terrible  silence,  and  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"  Oh,  you  don't !"  said  Mr.  Chaffanbrass,  knocking  his  wig 
back,  and  coming  well  out  of  his  kennel.  "  After  waiting  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  you  are  able  to  tell  the  jury  at  last  that 
you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  He  took  the  small  trifle  of 
change  out  of  his  pocket,  I  suppose  ?" 


434  THE   THUEE   CLEEKS. 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  took  it  from." 

"  And  you  didn't  ask  ?" 

"No." 

"  You  got  the  money ;  that  was  all  you  know.  But  this  was 
just  at  the  time  that  Mr.  Tudor  became  the  lady's  trustee ;  I 
think  you  have  admitted  that." 

"  It  may  have  been  about  the  time." 

"  Yes ;  it  may  have  been  about  the  time,  as  you  justly  observe, 
Mr.  Scott.  Luckily,  you  know,  we  have  the  dates  of  the  two 
transactions.  But  it  never  occurred  to  your  innocent  mind  that 
the  money  which  you  got  into  your  hands  was  a  part  of  the 
lady's  fortune  ;  that  never  occurred  to  your  innocent  mind — eh, 
Mr.  Scott  V 

"  I  don't  know  that  my  mind  is  a  more  innocent  mind  than 
your  own,"  said  TJndy. 

"  I  dare  say  not.  Well,  did  the  idea  ever  occur  to  your  guilty 
mind?" 

"  Perhaps  my  mind  is  not  more  guilty  than  your  own,  either." 

"  Then  may  God  help  me,"  said  Sir.  Chaffanbrass,  "  for  I  must 
be  at  a  bad  pass.  You  told  us  just  now,  Mr.  Scott,  that  some 
time  since  Mr.  Tudor  advised  you  to  sell  these  shares, — what 
made  him  give  you  this  advice  ?" 

"  He  meant,  he  said,  to  sell  his  own." 

"  And  he  pressed  you  to  sell  yours  ?" 

"Yes." 

"He  urged  you  to  do  so  more  than  once." 

"  Yes ;  I  believe  he  did." 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Scott,  can  you  explain  to  the  jury  why  he  was 
so  solicitous  that  you  should  dispose  of  your  property  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  why  he  should  have  done  so,  unless  he  wanted 
back  his  money." 

"  Then  he  did  ask  for  his  own  money  ?" 

"  No ;  he  never  asked  for  it.  But  if  I  had  sold  the  shares, 
perhaps  he  might  have  asked  for  it." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  ;  and  as  he  uttered  the  mono- 
syllable he  looked  up  at  the  jury,  and  gently  shook  his  head, 
and  gently  shook  his  hands.  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  was  famous  for 
these  little  silent  addresses  to  the  jury-box. 

But  not  even  yet  had  he  done  with  this  suspicious  loan.  We 
cannot  follow  him  through  the  whole  of  his  examination ;  for 
he  kept  our  old  friend  under  the  harrow  for  no  less  than  seven 
hours.  Though  he  himself  made  no  further  statement  to  the 
jury,  he  made  it  perfectly  plain,  by  Undy's  own  extracted  admis- 


THE    OLD   BAILEY.  436 

sions,  or  by  the  hesitation  of  his  denials,  that  lie  had  knowingly- 
received  this  money  out  of  his  niece's  fortune,  and  that  he  had 
refused  to  sell  the  shares  bought  with  this  money,  when  pressed 
to  do  so  by  Tudor,  in  order  that  the  trust-money  might  be  again 
made  up. 

There  were  those  who  blamed  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  for  thus 
admitting  that  his  cljent  had  made  away  with  his  ward's  money 
by  lending  it  to  Undy ;  but  that  acute  gentleman  saw  clearly 
that  he  could  not  contend  against  the  fact  of  the  property  hav- 
ing been  fraudulently  used  ;  but  he  saw  that  he  might  induce 
the  jury  to  attach  so  much  guilt  to  Undy,  that  Tudor  would,  as 
it  were,  be  whitened  by  the  blackness  of  the  other's  villany. 
The  judge,  he  well  knew,  would  blow  aside  all  this  froth  ;  but 
then  the  judge  could  not  find  a  verdict. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  day,  when  Undy  was  thoroughly  worn 
out, — at  which  time,  however,  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  was  as  brisk  as 
ever,  for  nothing  ever  wore  him  out  when  he  was  pursuing  his 
game — when  the  interest  of  those  who  had  been  sweltering  in 
the  hot  court  all  the  day  was  observed  to  flag,  Mr.  Chaffanbrass 
began  twisting  round  his  finger  a  bit  of  paper,  of  which  those 
who  were  best  acquainted  with  his  manner  knew  that  he  would 
soon  make  use. 

"  Mr.  Scott,"  said  he,  suddenly  dropping  the  derisive  sarcasm 
of  his  former  tone,  and  addressing  him  with  all  imaginable 
courtesy,  "  could  you  oblige  me  by  telling  me  whose  hand- 
writing that  is  ?"  and  he  handed  to  him  the  scrap  of  paper. 
Undy  took  it,  and  saw  that  the  writing  was  his  own ;  his  eyes 
were  somewhat  dim,  and  he  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  read 
it.  It  was  a  very  short  memorandum,  and  it  ran  as  follows  : 
"  All  will  yet  be  well,  if  those  shares  be  ready  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Scott,"  said  the  lawyer,  ^'  do  you  recognise  the 
handwriting  ?" 

Undy  looked  at  it,  and  endeavored  to  examine  it  closely,  but 
he  could  not ;  his  eyes  swam,  and  his  head  was  giddy,  and  he 
felt  sick.  Could  he  have  satisfied  himself  that  the  writing  was 
not  clearly  and  manifestly  his  own,  he  would  have  denied  the 
document  altogether  ;  but  he  feared  to  do  this ;  the  handwrit- 
ing might  be  proved  to  be  his  own. 

"  It  is  something  like  my  own,"  said  he. 

"  Something  like  your  own,  is  it?"  said  Mr.  Chaffanbrass,  as 
though  he  were  much  surprised.  "  Like  your  own !  Well, 
will  you  have  the  goodness  to  read  it  ?" 


436  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

TJndy  turned  it  in  his  hand  as  though  the  proposed  task 
were  singularly  disagreeable  to  him.  Why,  thought  he  to  him- 
self, should  he  be  thus  browbeaten  by  a  dirty  old  Newgate 
lawyer?  "Why  not  pluck  up  his  courage,  and,  at  any  rate,  show 
that  he  was  a  man  ?     "No,"  said  he,  "  I  will  not  read  it." 

"  Then  I  will.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  have  the  goodness  to 
listen  to  me."  Of  course  there  was  a  cpntest  then  between 
him  and  the  lawyers  on  the  other  side  whether  the  document 
might  or  might  not  be  read;  but  equally  of  course  the  contest 
ended  in  the  judge's  decision  that  it  should  be  read.  And 
Mr.  ChafFanbrass  did  read  it  in  a  voice  audible  to  all  men. 
"  '  All  will  yet  be  well,  if  those  shares  be  ready  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.' We  may  take  it  as  admitted,  I  suppose,  that  this  is  in 
your  handwriting,  Mr.  Scott  ?" 

"It  probably  may  be,  though  I  will  not  say  that  it  is." 

"  Do  you  not  know,  sir,  with  positive  certainty  that  it  is  your 
writing  ?" 

To  this  Undy  made  no  direct  answer.  "  What  is  your 
opinion,  Mr.  Scott  ?"  said  the  judge  ;  "  you  can  probably  give 
an  opinion  by  which  the  jury  would  be  much  guided." 

"  I  think  it  is,  my  lord,"  said  Undy. 

"  He  thinks  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Chaffanbrass,  addressing  the  jury. 
"  Well,  for  once  I  agree  with  you.  I  think  it  is  also — and  now 
will  you  have  the  goodness  to  explain  it  ?  To  whom  was  it 
addressed  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"  When  was  it  written  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?" 

"  T  cannot  remember." 

"  Was  it  addressed  to  Mr.  Tudor  ?" 

"  I  should  think  not." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Scott,  have  the  goodness  to  look  at  the  jury,  and 
to  speak  a  little  louder.  You  are  in  the  habit  of  addressing  a 
larger  audience  than  this,  and  cannot,  therefore,  be  shamefaced. 
You  mean  to  tell  the  jury  that  you  think  that  that  note  was  not 
intended  by  you  for  Mr.  Tudor  ?" 

"  I  tliink  not,"  said  Undy. 

"  But  you  can't  say  who  it  was  intended  for  ?" 

"  No." 

"  And  by  the  virtue  of  your  oath,  you  have  told  us  all  that 
you  know  about  it  ?"  Undy  remained  silent,  but  Mr.  Chaftan- 
brass  did  not  press  him  for  an  answer.     "  You  have  a  brother, 


THE    OLD   BAILEY.  437 

named  Valentine,  I  think."  Now  Captain  Val  had  been  sum- 
moned also,  and  was  at  thjs  moment  in  court.  Mr.  Chaffan- 
brass  requested  that  he  might  be  desired  to  leave  it,  and,  con- 
sequently, he  was  ordered  out  in  charge  of  a  policeman. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Scott — was  that  note  written  by  you  to  Mr. 
Tudor,  with  reference  to  certain  shares,  which  you  proposed 
that  Mr.  Tudor  should  place  in  your  brother's  hands?  Now, 
sir,  I  ask  you,  as  a  member  of  Parliament,  as  a  member  of  the 
Government,  as  the  son  of  a  peer,  to  give  a  true  answer  to 
that  question."  And  then  again  Undy  was  silent ;  and  again 
Mr.  Chaftanbrass  leant  on  the  desk  and  glared  at  him.  "  And 
remember,  sir,  member  of  Parliament  and  nobleman  as  you  are, 
you  shall  be  indicted  for  perjury,  if  you  are  guilty  of  perjury." 

"  My  lord,"  said  Undy,  writhing  in  torment,  "  am  I  to 
submit  to  this  ?" 

"  Mr.  ChafFanbrass,"  said  the  judge,  "  you  should  not  threaten 
your  witness.     Mr.  Scott — surely  you  can  answer  the  question," 

Mr.  Chatfanbrass  seemed  not  to  have  even  heard  what  the 
judge  said,  so  intently  were  his  eyes  fixed  on  poor  Undy. 
"Well,  Mr.  Scott,"  he  said  at  last,  very  softly,  "  is  it  convenient 
for  you  to  answer  me  ?  Did  that  note  refer  to  a  certain  number 
of  bridge  shares,  which  you  required  Mr.  Tudor  to  hand  over 
to  the  stepfather  of  this  lady  ?" 

Undy  had  no  trust  in  his  brother.  He  felt  all  but  sure  that, 
under  the  fire  of  Mr.  ChafFanbrass,  he  would  confess  everything. 
It  would  be  terrible  to  own  the  truth,  but  it  would  be  more 
terrible  to  be  indicted  for  perjury.     So  he  sat  silent. 

"  My  lord,  perhaps  you  will  ask  him,"  said  Mr.  Chaffanbrass. 

"Mr.  Scott,  you  understand  the  question — why  do  you  not 
answer  it  ?"  asked  the  judge.     But  Undy  still  remained  silent. 

"  You  may  go  now,"  said  Mr.  Chaff"anbrass.  "  Your  elo- 
quence is  of  the  silent  sort;  but,  nevertheless,  it  is  very 
impressive.  You  may  go  now,  and  sit  on  that  bench  again,  if, 
after  what  has  passed,  the  sheriff"  thinks  proper  to  permit  it." 

Undy,  however,  did  not  try  that  officer's  complaisance.  He 
retired  from  the  witness-box,  and  was  not  again  seen  during  the 
trial  in  any  conspicuous  place  in  the  court. 

It  was  then  past  seven  o'clock  ;  but  Mr.  Chaff"anbrass  insisted 
on  going  on  with  the  examination  of  Captain  Val.  It  did  not 
last  long.  Captain  Val,  also,  was  in  that  disagreeable  position, 
that  he  did  not  know  what  Undy  had  confessed,  and  what 
denied.  So  he,  also,  refused  to  answer  the  questions  of  Mr. 
Chaff'anbrass,  saying  that  he   might  possibly  damage  himself 


438  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

should  he  do  so.  This  was  enough  for  Mr.  ChafFanbrass,  and 
then  his  work  was  done.  , 

At  eight  o'clock  the  court  again  adjourned  ;  again  Charley 
posted  off — for  the  third  time  that  day — to  let  Gertrude  know 
that,  even  as  yet,  all  was  not  over ;  and  again  he  and  Alaric 
spent  a  melancholy  evening  at  the  neighboring  tavern ;  and 
then,  again,  on  the  third  morning,  all  were  re-assembled  at  the 
Old  Bailey. 

Or  rather  they  were  not  all  re-assembled.  But  few  came 
now,  and  they  were  those  who  were  obliged  to  come.  The 
crack  piece  of  the  trial,  that  portion  to  which,  among  the  con- 
noisseurs, the  interest  was  attached,  that  was  all  over.  Mr. 
ChafFanbrass  had  done  his  work.  Undy  Scott,  the  member  of 
Parliament,  had  been  gibbeted,  and  the  rest  was,  in  comparison, 
stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable.  The  judge  and  jury,  however, 
were  there,  so  were  the  prosecuting  counsel,  so  were  Mr. 
Chaifanbrass  and  Mr.  Younglad,  and  so  was  poor  Alaric.  The 
work  of  the  day  was  commenced  by  the  judge's  charge,  and 
then  Alaric,  to  his  infinite  dismay,  found  how  all  the  sophistry 
and  labored  arguments  of  his  very  talented  advocate  were 
blown  to  the  winds,  and  shown  to  be  worthless.  "  Gentlemen," 
said  the  judge  to  the  jurors,  after  he  had  gone  through  all  the 
evidence,  and  told  them  what  was  admissible,  and  what  was 
not — "gentlemen,  I  must  especially  remind  you,  that  in  coming 
to  a  verdict  in  the  matter,  no  amount  of  guilt  on  the  part  of  any 
other  person  can  render  guiltless  him  whom  you  are  now  trying, 
or  palliate  his  guilt  if  he  be  guilty.  An  endeavor  has  been 
made  to  aflBx  a  deep  stigma  on  one  of  the  witnesses  who  has 
been  examined  before  you ;  and  to  induce  you  to  feel,  rather 
than  to  think,  that  Mr.  Tudor  is,  at  any  rate,  comparatively 
innocent — innocent  as  compared  with  that  gentleman.  That  is 
not  the  issue  which  you  are  called  on  to  decide  ;  not  whether 
Mr.  Scott,  for  purposes  of  his  own,  led  Mr.  Tudor  on  to  guilty 
and  then  turned  against  him ;  but  whether  Mr.  Tudor  himself 
has,  or  has  not,  been  guilty  under  this  act  of  Parliament  that 
has  been  explained  to  you. 

"As  regards  the  evidence  of  Mr.  Scott,  I  am  justified  in  tell- 
ing you,  that  if  the  prisoner's  guilt  depended  in  any  way  on 
that  evidence,  it  would  be  your  duty  to  receive  it  with  the 
most  extreme  caution,  and  to  reject  it  altogether  if  not  corro- 
borated. That  evidence  was  not  trustworthy,  and  in  a  great 
measure  justified  the  treatment  which  the  witness  encountered 
from  the  learned  barrister  who  examined  him.     But  Mr.  Scott 


THE    OLD    BAILEY.  439 

was  a  witness  for  tlie  defence,  not  for  the  prosecution.  Tlie 
case  for  the  prosecution  in  no  way  hangs  on  his  evidence. 

"  If  it  be  your  opinion  that  Mr.  Tudor  is  guilty,  and  that  he 
was  unwarily  enticed  into  guilt  by  Mr.  Scott ;  that  the  whole 
arrangement  of  this  trust  was  brought  about  by  Mr.  Scott  or 
others,  to  enable  him  or  them  to  make  a  cat's-paw  of  this  new 
trustee,  and  thus  use  the  lady's  money  for  their  own  purposes, 
such  an  opinion  on  your  part  may  justify  you  in  recommending 
the  prisoner  to  the  merciful  consideration  of  the  bench  ;  but  it 
cannot  justify  you  in  finding  a  verdict  of  not  guilty." 

As  Alaric  heard  this,  and  much  more  to  the  same  effect,  his 
hopes,  which  certainly  had  been  high  during  the  examination 
of  Undy  Scott,  again  sank  to  zero,  and  left  him  in  despair.  He 
had  almost  begun  to  doubt  the  fact  of  his  own  guilt,  so  won- 
drously  had  his  conduct  been  glossed  over  by  Mr.  Chaffanbrass, 
so  strikingly  had  any  good  attempt  on  his  part  been  brought  to 
the  light,  so  black  had  Scott  been  made  to  appear.  Ideas  floated 
across  his  brain  that  he  might  go  forth,  not  only  free  of  the 
law,  but  whitewashed  also  in  men's  opinions,  that  he  might 
again  sit  on  his  throne  at  the  Civil  Service  Board,  again  cry  to 
himself  "  Excelsior,"  and  indulge  the  old  dreams  of  his  ambi- 
tion. 

But  alas  !  the  deliberate  and  well-poised  wisdom  of  the  judge 
seemed  to  shower  down  cold  truth  upon  the  jury  from  his  very 
eyes.  His  words  were  low  in  their  tone,  though  very  clear, 
impassive,  delivered  without  gesticulation  or  artifice,  such  as 
that  so  powerfully  used  by  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  ;  but  Alaric  him- 
self felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  the  truth  of  such  a 
man  ;  impossible  to  suppose  that  any  juryman  should  do  so. 
Ah  me !  why  had  he  brought  himself  thus  to  quail  beneath  the 
gaze  of  an  old  man  seated  on  a  bench  ?  with  what  object  had 
he  forced  himself  to  bend  his  once  proud  neck  ?  He  had  been 
before  in  courts  such  as  this,  and  had  mocked  within  his  own 
spirit  the  paraphernalia  of  the  horsehair  wigs,  the  judges'  faded 
finery,  and  the  red  cloth  ;  he  had  laughed  at  the  musty,  stale 
solemnity  by  which  miscreants  were  awed,  and  policemen  en- 
chanted ;  now,  these  things  told  on  himself  heavily  enough ;  he 
felt  now  their  weight  and  import. 

And  then  the  jury  retired  from  the  court  to  consider  their 
verdict,  and  Mr.  Gitemthruet  predicted  that  they  would  be 
hungry  enough  before  they  sat  down  to  their  next  meal.  "  His 
lordship  was  dead  against  us,"  said  Mr.  Gitemthruet ;  "  but  that 
was  a  matter  of  course  ;  we  must  look  to  the  jury,  and  the  city 


440  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

juries  are  very  fond  of  Mr.  ChafFanbrass ;  I  am  not  quite  sure, 
however,  that  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  was  right :  I  would  not  have 
admitted  so  much  myself;  but  then  no  one  knows  a  city  jury  so 
well   as  Mr.  Chaffanbrass." 

Other  causes  came  on,  and  still  the  jury  did  not  return  to 
court.  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  very 
existence  of  Alaric  Tudor,  and  was  deeply  engaged  in  vindicat- 
ing a  city  butcher  from  an  imputation  of  having  vended  a  dead 
ass  by  way  of  veal.  All  his  indignation  was  now  forgotten,  and 
he  was  full  of  boisterous  fun,  filling  the  court  with  peals  of 
laughter.  One  o'clock  came,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven, 
and  still  no  verdict.  At  the  latter  hour,  when  the  court  was 
about  to  be  adjourned,  the  foreman  came  in,  and  assured  the 
judge  that  there  was  no  probability  that  they  could  agree  ; 
eleven  of  them  thought  one  way,  while  the  twelfth  was  opposed 
to  them.  "  You  must  reason  with  the  gentleman,"  said  the 
judge.  *'I  have,  my  lord,"  said  the  foreman,  "but  it's  all 
thrown  away  upon  him."  "  Reason  with  him  again,"  said  the 
judge,  rising  from  his  bench  and  preparing  to  go  to  his  din- 
ner. 

And  then  one  of  the  great  fundamental  supports  of  the  Bri- 
tish constitution  was  brought  into  play.  Reason  was  thrown 
away  upon  this  tough  juiyman,  and,  therefore,  it  was  necessary 
to  ascertain  w^hat  effect  starvation  might  have  upon  him.  A 
verdict,  that  is,  a  unanimous  decision  from  these  twelve  men  as 
to  Alaric's  guilt,  w^as  necessary ;  it  might  be  that  three  would 
think  him  innocent,  and  nine  guilt}",  or  that  any  other  division 
of  opinion  might  take  place  ;  but  such  divisions  among  a  jury 
are  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  the  British  constitution.  Twelve 
men  must  think  alike ;  or,  if  they  will  not,  they  must  be  made 
to  do  so.  "  Reason  with  him  again,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  went 
to  his  own  dinner.  Had  the  judge  bade  them  remind  him 
how  hungry  he  would  soon  be  if  he  remained  obstinate,  his 
lordship  would  probably  have  expressed  the  thought  which 
was  passing  through  his  mind.  "  There  is  one  of  us,  my 
lord,"  said  the  foreman,  "  who  w^ill  I  know  be  very  ill  before 
long ;  he  is  already  so  bad  that  he  can't  sit  upright." 

There  are  many  ludicrous  points  in  our  blessed  constitution, 
but  perhaps  nothing  so  ludicrous  as  a  juryman  praying  to  a 
judge  for  mercy  He  has  been  caught,  shut  up  in  a  box,  per- 
haps, for  five  or  six  days  together,  badgered  wnth  half-a-dozen 
lawyers  till  he  is  nearly  deaf  with  their  continual  talking,  and 
then  he  is  locked  up  until  he  shall  die  or  find  a  verdict.     Such 


THE    OLD   BAILEY.  441 

at  least  is  the  intention  of  the  constitution.  The  death,  how- 
ever, of  three  or  four  jurymen  from  starvation  would  not  suit 
the  humanity  of  the  present  age,  and  therefore,  when  extremi- 
ties are  nigh  at  hand,  the  dying  jurymen,  with  medical  certifi- 
cates, are  allowed  to  be  carried  off.  It  is  devoutly  to  be  wished 
that  one  juryman  might  be  starved  to  death  while  thus  serving 
the  constitution  ;  the  absurdity  then  would  cure  itself,  and  a 
verdict  of  a  majority  would  be  taken. 

But  in  Alaric's  case,  reason  or  hunger  did  prevail  at  the  last 
moment,  and  as  the  judge  was  leaving  the  court,  he  was  called 
back  to  receive  the  verdict.  Alaric,  also,  was  brought  back, 
still  under  Mr.  Gitemthruet's  wing,  and  with  him  came  Charley. 
A  few  officers  of  the  court  were  there,  a  jailer  and  a  policeman 
or  two,  those  whose  attendance  was  absolutely  necessary,  but 
with  these  exceptions  the  place  was  empty.  Not  long  since  men 
were  crowding  for  seats,  and  the  policemen  were  hardly  able  to 
restrain  the  pressure  of  those  who  pushed  forward  ;  but  now 
there  was  no  pushing ;  the  dingy,  dirty  benches,  a  few  inches 
of  which  had  lately  been  so  desirable,  were  not  at  all  in  request, 
and  were  anything  but  inviting  in  appearance  ;  Alaric  sat  him- 
self down  on  the  very  spot  which  had  lately  been  sacred  to  Mr. 
Chaffanbrass,  and  Mr.  Gitemthruet,  seated  above  him,  might 
also  fancy  himself  a  barrister.  There  they  sat  for  five  minutes 
in  perfect  silence  ;  the  suspense  of  the  moment  cowed  even  the 
attorney,  and  Charley,  who  sat  on  the  other  side  of  Alaric, 
w^as  so  affected  that  he  could  hardly  have  spoken  had  he  wished 
to  do  so. 

And  then  the  judge,  who  had  been  obliged  to  re-array  him- 
self before  he  returned  to  the  bench,  again  took  his  seat,  and 
an  officer  of  the  court  inquired  of  the  foreman  of  the  jury,  in 
his  usual  official  language,  what  their  finding  was. 

"  Guilty  on  the  third  count,"  said  the  foreman.  "  Not  guilty 
on  the  four  others.  We  beg,  however,  most  strongly  to  recom- 
mend the  prisoner  to  your  lordship's  merciful  consideration, 
believing  that  he  has  been  led  into  this  crime  by  one  who  has 
been  much  more  guilty  than  himself." 

"  I  knew  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  was  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Gitemthruet. 
"  I  knew  he  was  wrong  when  he  acknowledged  as  much.  God 
bless  my  soul!  in  a  court  of  law  one  should  never  acknowledge 
anything!  what's  the  use  ?" 

And  then  came  the  sentence.  He  was  to  be  confined  at  the 
Penitentiary  at  Millbank  for  six  months.  "The  offence,"  said 
the  judge,  "  of  which  you  have  been  found  guilty,  and  of  whicli 

19^ 


442  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

you  most  certainly  have  been  guilty,  is  one  most  prejudicial  to 
the  interests  of  the  community.  That  trust  which  the  weaker 
of  mankind  should  place  in  the  stronger,  that  reliance  which 
widows  and  orphans  should  feel  in  their  nearest  and  dearest 
friends,  would  be  destroyed,  if  such  crimes  as  these  were  allowed 
to  pass  unpunished.  But  in  your  case  there  are  circumstances 
w^hich  do  doubtless  palliate  the  crime  of  which  you  have  been 
guilty ;  the  money  which  you  took  will,  I  believe,  be  restored  ; 
the  trust  which  you  were  courted  to  undertake  should  not  have 
been  imposed  on  you  ;  and  in  the  tale  of  villany  which  has 
been  laid  before  us,  you  have  by  no  means  been  the  worst 
offender.  I  have,  therefore,  inflicted  on  you  the  slightest  penalty 
which  the  law  allows  me.  Mr.  Tudor,  I  know  what  has  been 
your  career,  how  great  your  services  to  your  country,  how  unex- 
ceptionable your  conduct  as  a  public  servant ;  I  trust,  I  do  trust, 
I  most  earnestly,  most  hopefully  trust,  that  your  career  of  utility 
is  not  over.  Your  abilities  are  great,  and  you  are  blessed  with 
the  power  of  thinking ;  I  do  beseech  you  to  consider,  while 
you  undergo  that  confinement  which  you  needs  must  suflfer,  how 
little  any  wealth  is  worth  an  uneasy  conscience." 

And  so  the  trial  was  over.  Alaric  was  taken  off  in  custody ; 
the  policeman  in  mufti  was  released  from  his  attendance  ;  and 
Charley,  with  a  heavy  heart,  carried  the  news  to  Gertrude  and 
Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  And  as  for  me,"  said  Gertrude,  when  she  had  so  far  recovered 
from  the  first  shock  as  to  be  able  to  talk  to  her  mother — "  as  for 
me,  I  will  have  lodgings  at  Millbank." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

A    PARTING    INTERVIEW. 


Mrs.  Woodward  remained  with  her  eldest  daughter  for  two 
days  after  the  trial,  and  then  she  was  forced  to  return  to  Hamp- 
ton. She  had  earnestly  entreated  Gertrude  to  accompany  her, 
with  her  child  ;  but  Mrs.  Tudor  w^as  inflexible.  She  had,  she 
said,  very  much  to  do ; — so  much,  that  she  could  not  possibly 
leave  London  ;  the  house  and  furniture  were  on  her  hands,  and 
must  be  disposed  of;  their  future  plans  must  be  arranged  ;  and 
then  nothing,  she  said,  should  induce  her  to  sleep  out  of  sight 
of  her  husband's  prison,  or  to  omit  any  opportunity  of  seeing 
him  which  the  prison  rules  would  allow  her. 

Mrs.  Woodward  would  not  have  left  one  child  in  such  ex- 


A   PARTING  INTERVIEW.  448 

tremity,  had  not  the  state  of  another  child  made  her  presence 
at  the  Cottage  indispensable.  Katie's  anxiety  about  the  trial 
had  of  course  been  intense,  so  intense  as  to  give  her  a  false 
strength,  and  somewhat  to  deceive  Linda  as  to  her  real  state. 
Tidings  of  course  passed  daily  between  London  and  the  Cottage, 
but  for  three  days  they  told  nothing.  On  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  day,  however,  Norman  brought  the  heavy  news,  and  Katie 
sank  completely  under  it.  When  she  first  heard  the  result  of 
the  trial  she  swooned  away,  and  remained  for  some  time  nearly 
unconscious.  But  returning  consciousness  brought  with  it  no 
relief,  and  she  lay  sobbing  on  her  pillow,  till  she  became  so 
weak,  that  Linda  in  her  fright  wrote  up  to  her  mother  begging 
her  to  return  at  once.  Then,  wretched  as  it  made  her  to  leave 
Gertrude  in  her  trouble,  Mrs.  Woodward  did  return. 

For  a  fortnight  after  this  there  was  an  unhappy  household  at 
Surbiton  Cottage.  Linda's  marriage  was  put  off  till  the  period 
of  Alaric's  sentence  should  be  over,  and  till  something  should  be 
settled  as  to  his  and  Gertrude's  future  career.  It  was  now 
August,  and  they  spoke  of  the  event  as  one  which  perhaps  might 
occur  in  the  course  of  the  following  spring.  At  this  time,  also, 
they  were  deprived  for  a  while  of  the  comfort  of  Norman's  visits 
by  his  enforced  absence  at  Normansgrove.  Harry's  eldest 
brother  was  again  ill,  and  at  last  the  news  of  his  death  was 
received  at  Hampton.  Under  other  circumstances  such  tidings 
as  those  might,  to  a  certain  extent,  have  brought  their  own  con- 
solation with  them.  Harry  would  now  be  Mr.  Norman  of  Nor- 
mansgrove, and  Linda  would  now  become  Mrs.  Norman  of  Nor- 
mansgrove; Harry's  mother  had  long  been  dead,  and  hisfathei- 
was  an  infirm  old  man,  who  would  be  too  glad  to  give  up  to  his 
son  the  full  management  of  the  estate,  now  that  the  eldest  son 
was  a  man  to  whom  that  estate  could  be  trusted.  All  those 
circumstances  had,  of  course,  been  talked  over  between  Harrv 
and  Linda,  and  it  was  understood  that  Harry  was  now  to  resign 
his  situation  at  the  Weights  and  Measures.  But  Alaric's  condi- 
tion, Gertrude's  misery,  and  Katie's  illness,  threw  all  such  mat- 
ters into  the  background. 

Katie  became  no  better ;  but  then  the  doctors  said  that  she 
did  not  become  any  worse,  and  gave  it  as  their  opinion  that  she 
ought  to  recover.  She  had  youth,  they  said,  on  her  side  ;  and 
then  her  lungs  were  not  affected.  This  was  the  great  question 
which  they  were  all  asking  of  each  other  continually.  The 
poor  girl  lived  beneath  a  stethoscope,  and  bore  all  their  pokings 
and  tappings  with  exquisite  patience.     She  herself  believed  that 


444  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

she  was  dying,  and  so  she  repeatedly  told  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Woodward  could  only  say  that  all  was  in  God's  hands,  but  that 
the  physicians  still  encouraged  them  to  hope  the  best. 

One  day  Mrs.  Woodward  was  sitting  with  a  book  in  her  usual 
place  at  the  side  of  Katie's  bed  ;  she  looked  every  now  and  again 
at  her  patient,  and  thought  that  she  was  slumbering;  and  at 
last  she  rose  from  her  chair  to  creep  away,  so  sure  was  she  that 
she  might  be  spared  for  a  moment.  But  just  as  she  was  silently 
rising,  a  thin,  slight,  pale  hand  crept  out  from  beneath  the  clothes 
and  laid  itself  on  her  arm. 

"  I  thought  you  were  asleep,  love,"  said  she. 

"  No,  mamma,  I  was  not  asleep.  I  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing. Don't  go  away,  mamma,  just  now.  I  want  to  ask  you 
something." 

Mrs.  Woodward  again  sat  down,  and  taking  her  daughter's 
hand  in  her  own,  caressed  it. 

"  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  mamma,"  said  Katie. 

"  A  favor,  my  darling  !  what  is  it  ?  You  know  I  will  do  any- 
thing in  my  power  that  you  ask  me." 

"  Ah,  mamma,  I  do  not  know  whether  you  will  do  this." 

"  What  is  it,  Katie?  I  will  do  anything  that  is  for  your  good. 
I  am  sure  you  know  that,  Katie." 

"  Mamma,  I  know  I  am  going  to  die.  Oh,  mamma,  don't  say 
anything  now,  don't  cry  now — dear,  dear  mamma ;  I  don't  say 
it  to  make  you  unhappy  ;  but  you  know  when  I  am  so  ill,  I 
ought  to  think  about  it — ought  I  not,  mamma  ?" 

"  But,  Katie,  the  doctor  says  that  he  thinks  you  are  not  so 
dangerously  ill ;  you  should  not  therefore  despond  ;  it  w^ill 
increase  your  illness,  and  hinder  your  chance  of  getting  well. 
That  would  be  wTong,  wouldn't  it,  love  ?" 

"  Mamma,  I  feel  that  I  shall  never  again  be  well,  and  there- 
fore  "     It  w^as  useless  telling  Mrs.  Woodward  not  to  cry  ; 

what  else  could  she  do  ?  "Dear  mamma,!  am  so  sorry  to  make 
you  unhappy,  but  you  are  my  own  mamma,  and  therefore  I 
must  tell  you.  I  can  be  happy  still,  mamma,  if  you  will  let  mo 
talk  to  you  about  it." 

"  You  shall  talk,  dearest ;  I  will  hear  what  you  say  ;  but  oh, 
Katie,  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  you  talk  of  dying.  I  do  not  think 
you  are  dying.  If  I  did  think  so,  my  child,  my  trust  in  your 
goodness  is  so  strong  that  I  should  tell  you." 

"  You  know,  mamma,  it  might  have  been  much  worse ;  sup- 
pose I  had  been  drowned,  when  he,  when  Charley,  you  know, 
saved  me;"  and  as  she  mentioned  his  name,  a  tear  for  the  first, 


A    PARTING   INTERVIEW.  445 

time  ran  down  eacli  cheek  ;  "  how  much  worse  that  would  have 
been !  think,  mamma,  what  it  would  be  to  be  drowned  without 
a  moment  for  one's  prayers." 

"It  is  quite  right  we  should  prepare  ourselves  for  death. 
Whether  we  live,  or  whether  we  die,  we  shall  be  better  fordoing 
that." 

Katie  still  held  her  mother's  hand  in  hers,  and  lay  back 
against  the  pillows  which  had  been  placed  behind  her  back. 
"  And  now,  mamma,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
this  favor — I  want  to  see  Charley  once  more." 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  so  much  astonished  at  the  request,  that 
at  first  she  knew  not  what  answer  to  make.  "  To  see  Charley  !" 
she  said  at  last. 

"Yes,  mamma ;  I  want  to  see  Charley  once  more ;  there  need 
be  no  secrets  between  us  now,  mamma." 

"  There  have  never  been  any  secrets  between  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward,  embracing  her.  "  You  have  never  had  any  secrets 
from  me  ?" 

"  Not  intentionally,  mamma ;  I  have  never  meant  to  keep 
anything  secret  from  you.  And  I  know  you  have  known  what 
I  felt  about  Charley." 

"  I  know  that  you  have  behaved  like  an  angel,  my  child ;  I 
know  your  want  of  selfishness,  your  devotion  to  others,  has  been 
such  as  to  shame  me ;  I  know  your  conduct  has  been  perfect : 
oh,  my  Katie,  I  have  understood  it,  and  I  have  so  loved  you,  so 
admired  you." 

Katie  smiled  through  her  tears  as  she  returned  her  mother's 
embrace.  "  Well,  mamma,"  she  said,  "  at  any  rate  you  know 
that  I  love  him.  Oh,  mamma,  I  do  love  him  so  dearly.  It  is 
not  now  like  Gertrude's  love,  or  Linda's.  I  know  that  I  can 
never  be  his  wife.  I  did  know  before  that  for  many  reasons  I 
ought  not  to  wish  to  be  so  ;  but  now  I  know  I  never,  never  can  be." 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  past  the  power  of  speaking,  and  so 
Katie  went  on. 

"  But  I  do  not  love  him  the  less  for  that  reason ;  I  think  I 
love  him  the  more.  I  never,  never  could  have  loved  any  one 
else,  mamma — never,  never ;  and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  do 
not  so  much  mind  being  ill  now." 

Mrs.  Woodward  bowed  forward,  and  hid  her  face  in  the 
counterpane,  but  she  still  kept  hold  of  her  daughter's  hand. 

"And,  mamma,"  she  continued,  "as  I  do  love  him  so  dearly, 
I  feel  that  I  should  try  to  do  something  for  him.  I  ought  to  do 
so ;  and,  mamma,  I  could  not  die  happy  without  seeing  him. 


446  THE  THREE   CLEEKS. 

He  is  not  just  like  a  brother  or  a  brother-in-law,  such  as  Harry 
and  Alaric ;  we  are  not  bound  to  each  other  as  relations  are ; 
but  yet  I  feel  that  something  does  bind  me  to  him.  I  know  he 
doesn't  love  me  as  I  love  him ;  but  yet  I  think  he  loves  me 
dearly  ;  and  if  I  speak  to  him  now,  mamma,  now  that  I  am — 
that  I  am  so  ill,  perhaps  he  will  mind  me.  Mamma,  it  will  be 
as  though  one  came  unto  him  from  the  dead." 

Mrs.  Woodward  did  not  know  how  to  refuse  any  request  that 
Katie  might  now  make  to  her,  and  felt  herself  altogether  unequal 
to  the  task  of  refusing  this  request.  For  many  reasons  she 
would  have  done  so,  had  she  been  able;  in  the  first  place  she 
did  not  think  that  all  chance  of  Katie's  recovery  was  gone  ;  and 
then  at  the  present  moment  she  felt  no  inclination  to  draw  closer 
to  her  any  of  the  Tudor  family.  She  could  not  but  feel  that 
Alaric  had  been  the  means  of  disgracing  and  degrading  one 
child  ;  and  truly,  deeply,  warmly,  as  she  sympathised  with  the 
other,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  feel  the  same  sympathy  for 
the  object  of  her  love.  It  was  a  sore  day  for  her  and  hers,  that 
on  which  the  Tudors  had  first  entered  her  house. 

Nevertheless  she  assented  to  "Katie's  proposal,  and  undertook 
the  task  of  asking  Charley  down  to  Hampton. 

Since  Alaric's  conviction  Charley  led  a  busy  life ;  and  as  men 
who  have  really  something  to  do  have  seldom  time  to  get  into 
much  mischief,  he  had  been  peculiarly  moral  and  respectable. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  at  such  a  moment  Gertrude  found  that 
Alaric's  newer  friends  fell  off  from  him.  Of  course  they  did ; 
nor  is  it  a  sign  of  ingratitude  or  heartlessness  in  the  world  that 
at  such  a  period  of  great  distress  new  friends  should  fall  off. 
New  friends,  like  one's  best  coat  and  polished  patent-leather 
dress  boots,  are  only  intended  for  holiday  wear.  At  other  times 
they  are  neither  serviceable  nor  comfortable;  they  do  not 
answer  the  required  purposes,  and  are  ill  adapted  to  give  us  the 
ease  we  seek.  A  new  coat,  however,  has  this  advantage,  that  it 
will  in  time  become  old  and  comfortable ;  so  much  can  by  no  ^ 
means  be  predicted  with  certainty  of  a  new  friend.  Woe  to 
those  men  who  go  through  the  world  with  none  but  new  coats 
on  their  backs,  with  no  boots  but  those  of  polished  leather,  with 
none  but  new  friends  to  comfort  them  in  adversity. 

But  not  the  less,  when  misfortune  does  come,  are  we  inclined 
to  grumble  at  finding  ourselves  deserted.  Gertrude,  though  she 
certainly  wished  to  see  no  Mrs.  Val  and  no  Miss  Neverbends, 
did  feel  lonely  enough  when  her  mother  left  her,  and  wretched 
enough.     But  she  was  not  altogether  deserted.     At  this  time 


A  PARTING   INTERVIEW.  447 

Charley  was  true  to  her,  aad  did  for  her  all  those  thousand 
nameless  things  which  a  woman  cannot  do  for  herself.  He  came 
to  her  every  day  after  leaving  his  ofhce,  and  on  one  excuse  or 
another  remained  with  her  till  late  every  evening. 

He  was  not  a  little  surprised  one  morning  on  receiving  Mrs. 
Woodward's  invitation  to  Hampton.  Mrs.  Woodward  in  writing 
had  had  some  dijQSculty  in  wording  her  request.  She  hardly 
liked  asking  Charley  to  come  because  Katie  was  ill ;  nor  did  she 
like  to  ask  him  without  mentioning  Katie's  illness.  "  I  need  not 
explain  to  you,"  she  said  in  her  note,  "that  we  are  all  in  great 
distress ;  poor  Katie  is  very  ill,  and  you  will  understand  what 
we  must  feel  about  Alaric  and  Gertrude.  Harry  is  still  at  Nor- 
mansgrove.  We  shall  all  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  Katie,  who 
never  forgets  what  you  did  for  her,  insists  on  my  asking  you  at 
once.  I  am  sure  you  will  not  refuse  her,  so  I  shall  expect  you 
to-morrow."  Charley  would  not  have  refused  her  anything, 
and  it  need  hardly  be  said  that  he  accepted  the  invitation. 

Mrs.  Woodward  was  at  a  loss  how  to  receive  him,  or  what  to 
say  to  him.  Though  Katie  was  so  positive  that  her  own  illness 
would  be  fatal — a  symptom  which  might  have  confirmed  those 
who  watched  her  in  their  opinion  that  her  disease  was  not  con- 
sumption— her  mother  was  by  no  means  so  desponding.  She 
still  thought  it  not  impossible  that  her  child  might  recover,  and 
so  thinking  could  not  but  be  adverse  to  any  declaration  on 
Katie's  part  of  her  own  feelings.  She  had  endeavored  to  explain 
this  to  her  daughter ;  but  Katie  was  so  carried  away  by  her 
enthusiasm,  was  at  the  present  moment  so  devoted,  and  as  it 
were  exalted  above  her  present  life,  that  all  that  her  mother 
said  was  thrown  away  upon  her.  Mrs.  Woodward  might  have 
refused  her  daughter's  request,  and  have  run  the  risk  of  breaking 
her  heart  by  the  refusal;  but  now  that  the  petition  had  been 
granted,  it  was  useless  to  endeavor  to  teach  her  to  repress  her 
feelings. 

"  Charley,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  when  he  had  been  some 
little  time  in  the  house,  "  our  dear  Katie  wants  to  see  you ;  sh.e 
is  very  ill,  you  know." 

Charley  said  he  knew  she  was  ill. 

"  You  remember  our  walk  together,  Charley." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charley,  "  I  remember  it  well.  I  made  you  a 
promise  then,  and  I  have  kept  it.  I  have  now  come  here  only 
because  you  have  sent  for  me."  This  he  said  in  the  tone  which 
a  man  uses  when  he  feels  himself  to  have  been  injured. 

"I  know  it,  Charley;  you  have  kept  your  promise;  I  knew 


448  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

you  would,  and  I  know  you  will.  I  have  the  fullest  trust  in 
you;  and  now  you  shall  come  and  see  her." 

Charley  was  to  return  to  town  that  night,  and  they  had  not 
therefore  much  time  to  lose ;  they  went  up-stairs  at  once,  and 
found  Linda  and  Uncle  Bat  in  the  patient's  room.  It  was  a 
lovely  August  evening,  and  the  bedroom  window  opening  upon 
the  river  was  unclosed.  Katie,  as  she  sat  propped  up  against  the 
pillows,  could  look  out  upon  the  water  and  see  the  reedy  island, 
on  which  in  happy  former  days  she  had  so  delighted  to  let  her 
imagination  revel. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  come  and  see  me,  Charley,"  said 
she,  as  he  made  his  way  up  to  her  bedside. 

He  took  her  wasted  hand  in  his  own  and  pressed  it,  and,  as 
he  did  so,  a  tear  forced  itself  into  each  corner  of  his  eyes.  She 
smiled  as  though  to  cheer  him,  and  said  that  now  she  saw  him 
she  could  be  quite  happy,  only  for  poor  Alaric  and  Gertrude. 
She  hoped  she  might  live  to  see  Alaric  again ;  but  if  not,  Charley 
was  to  give  him  her  best — best  love. 

"  Live  to  see  him !  of  course  you  will,"  said  Uncle  Bat. 
"  What's  to  hinder  you  ?"  Uncle  Bat,  like  the  rest  of  them, 
tried  to  cheer  her,  and  make  her  think  that  she  might  yet 
live. 

After  a  while  Uncle  Bat  went  out  of  the  room,  and  Linda 
followed  him.  Mrs.  Woodward  would  fain  have  remained,  but 
she  perfectly  understood  that  it  was  part  of  the  intended  arrange- 
ment with  Katie,  that  Charley  should  be  alone  with  her.  "  I 
will  come  back  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  she  said,  rising  to  fol- 
low the  others.  "  You  must  not  let  her  talk  too  much,  Charley: 
you  see  how  weak  she  is." 

"  Mamma,  when  you  come,  knock  at  the  door,  will  you  ?" 
said  Katie.  Mrs.  Woodward,  who  found  herself  obliged  to  act 
in  complete  obedience  to  her  daughter,  promised  that  she 
would ;  and  then  they  were  left  alone. 

"  Sit  down,  Charley,"  said  she  ;  he  was  still  standing  by  her 
bedside,  and  now  at  her  bidding  he  sat  in  the  chair  which  Cap- 
tain Cuttwater  had  occupied.  "  Come  here,  nearer  to  me,"  said 
she ;  "  this  is  where  mamma  always  sits,  and  Linda  when 
mamma  is  not  here."  Charley  did  as  he  was  bid,  and,  chang- 
ing his  seat,  came  and  sat  down  close  to  her  bed-head. 

"  Charley,  do  you  remember  how  you  went  into  the  water 
for  me  ?"  said  she,  again  smiling,  and  pulling  her  hand  out  and 
resting  it  on  his  arm  which  lay  on  the  bed  beside  her. 

"  Indeed  I  do,  Katie — I  remember  the  day  very  well." 


A   PARTING   INTERVIEW.  449 

"  That  was  a  very  bappy  day  in  spite  of  the  tumble,  was  it 
not,  Charley?  And  do  you  remember  the  flower-show,  and 
the  dance  at  Mrs.  Val's  ?" 

Charley  did  remember  them  all  well.  Ah  me !  how  often 
had  he  thought  of  them  ! 

"  I  think  of  those  days  so  often — too  often,"  continued  Katie. 
"  But,  dear  Charley,  I  cannot  remember  too  often  that  you  saved 
ray  life." 

Charley  once  more  tried  to  explain  to  her  that  there  was 
nothing  worthy  of  notice  in  his  exploit  of  that  day. 

"  Well,  Charley,  I  may  think  as  I  like,  you  know,"  she  said, 
with  something  of  the  obstinacy  of  old  days.  "  I  think  you  did 
save  my  life,  and  all  the  people  in  the  world  won't  make  me 
think  anything  else ;  but,  Charley,  I  have  something  now  to 
tell  you." 

He  sat  and  listened.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  were 
only  there  to  listen ;  as  though,  were  he  to  make  his  own  voice 
audible,  he  would  violate  the  sanctity  of  the  place.  His  thoughts 
were  serious  enough,  but  he  could  not  pitch  his  voice  so  as  to 
suit  the  tone  in  which  she  addressed  him. 

"  We  were  always  friends,  were  we  not  ?  "  said  she ;  "  we  were 
always  good  friends,  Charley.  Do  you  remember  how  you  were 
to  build  a  palace  for  me  in  the  dear  old  island  out  there  ?  You 
were  always  so  kind,  so  good  to  me." 

Charley  said  he  remembered  it  all — they  were  happy  days ; 
the  happiest  days,  he  said,  that  he  had  ever  known. 

"  And  you  used  to  love  me,  Charley  ?  " 

"Used  !  "  said  he — "  do  you  think  I  do  not  love  you  now  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  do.  And,  Charley,  I  love  you  also.  That  it 
is  that  I  want  to  tell  you.  I  love  you  so  well  that  I  cannot  go 
away  from  this  world  in  peace  without  wishing  you  farewell. 
Charley,  if  you  love  me,  you  will  think  of  me  when  I  am  gone ; 
and  then  for  my  sake  you  will  be  steady." 

Here  were  all  her  old  words  over  again, — "  you  will  be  stead}^, 
won't  you,  Charley  ?  I  know  you  will  be  steady,  now."  How 
much  must  she  have  thought  of  him !  How  often  must  his 
career  have  caused  her  misery  and  pain  !  How  laden  must  that 
innocent  bosom  have  been  with  anxiety  on  his  account !  He 
had  promised  her  then  that  he  would  reform ;  but  he  had 
broken  his  promise.  He  now  promised  her  again,  but  how 
could  he  hope  that  she  would  believe  him  ? 

"  You  know  how  ill  I  am,  don't  you  ?  Yea  know  that  I  am 
dying,  Charley  ? " 


450  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

Charley  of  course  declared  that  he  still  hoped  that  she  would 
recover. 

"  If  I  thought  so,"  said  she,  "  I  should  not  say  what  I  am  now 
saying ;  but  I  feel  that  I  may  tell  the  truth.  Dear  Charley, 
dearest  Charley,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart — I  do  not  know 
how  it  came  so  ;  I  believe  I  have  always  loved  you  since  I  first 
knew  you ;  I  used  to  think  it  was  because  you  saved  my  life ; 
but  I  know  it  was  not  that.  I  was  so  glad  it  was  you  that  came 
to  me  in  the  water,  and  not  Harry  ;  so  that  I  know  I  loved  you 
before  that." 

"Dear  Katie,  you  have  not  loved  me,  or  thought  of  me,  more 
than  I  have  loved  or  thought  of  you." 

"  Ah,  Charley,"  she  said,  smiling  in  her  sad  sweet  way — "  I 
don't  think  you  know  how  a  girl  can  love  ;  you  have  so  many 
things  to  think  of,  so  much  to  amuse  you  up  in  London ;  you 
don't  know  what  it  is  to  think  of  one  person  for  days  and  days, 
and  nights  and  nights  together.  That  is  the  way  I  have  thought 
of  you.  I  don't  think  there  can  be  any  harm,"  she  continued, 
"  in  loving  a  person  as  I  have  loved  you.  Indeed,  how  could  I 
help  it?  I  did  not  love  you  on  purpose.  But  I  think  I  should 
be  wrong  to  die  without  telling  you.  When  I  am  dead,  Charley, 
will  you  think  of  this,  and  try — try  to  give  up  your  bad  ways  ? 
When  I  tell  you  that  I  love  you  so  dearly,  and  ask  you  on  my 
deathbed,  I  think  you  will  do  this." 

Charley  went  down  on  his  knees,  and  bowing  his  head  before 
her  and  before  his  God,  he  made  his  promise.  He  made  it,  ajid 
v/e  may  so  far  anticipate  the  approaching  end  of  our  story  as  to 
declare  that  the  promise  he  then  made  was  faithfully  kept. 

"  Katie,  Katie,  my  own  Katie,  my  own,  own,  own  Katie — oh, 
Katie,  you  must  not  die,  you  must  not  leave  me  !  Oh,  Katie,  I 
have  so  dearly  loved  you !  Oh,  Katie,  I  do  so  dearly  love  you  ! 
If  you  knew  all,  if  you  could  know  all,  you  would  believe 
me." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Woodward  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
Charley  rose  from  his  knees.  "  Not  quite  yet,  mamma,"  said 
Katie,  as  Mrs.  Woodward  opened  the  door.  "  Not  quite  yet ; 
in  five  minutes,  mamma,  you  may  come."  Mrs.  Woodward,  not 
knowing  how  to  refuse,  again  went  away. 

"Charley,  I  never  gave  you  anything  but  once,  and  you 
returned  it  to  me,  did  you  not  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "the  purse — I  put  it  in  your  box  be- 
cause   " 

And  then  he  remembered  that  h.e  could  not  say  why  he  had 


MILLBANK.  451 

returned  it  without  breaking  in  a  manner  that  confidence  which 
Mrs.  Woodward  had  put  in  him. 

"  I  understand  it  all.  You  must  not  think  I  was  angry  with 
you.  I  know  how  good  you  were  about  it.  But,  Charley,  you 
may  have  it  back  now  ;  here  it  is  ;  "  and  putting  her  hand  under 
the  pillow,  she  took  it  out,  carefully  folded  up  in  new  tissue 
paper.  "  There,  Charley,  you  must  never  part  with  it  again  as 
long  as  there  are  two  threads  of  it  together  ;  but  I  know  you 
never  will ;  and  Charley,  you  must  never  talk  of  it  to  anybody 
but  to  your  wife  ;  and  you  must  tell  her  all  about  it." 

He  took  the  purse,  and  put  it  to  his  lips,  and  then  pressed  it 
to  his  heart.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  will  never  part  with  it  again. 
I  think  I  can  promise  that." 

"  And  now,  dearest,  good-bye,"  said  she  ;  "  dearest,  dearest 
Charley,  good-bye ;  perhaps  we  shall  know  each  other  in 
heaven.  Kiss  me,  Charley,  before  you  go."  So  he  stooped 
down  over  her,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

Charley,  leaving  the  room,  found  Mrs.  Woodward  at  the 
other  end  of  the  passage,  standing  at  the  door  of  her  own 
dressing-room.  "  You  are  to  go  to  her  now,"  he  said.  "Good- 
bye," and  without  further  speech  to  any  of  them  he  hurried  out 
of  the  house. 

None  but  Mrs.  Woodward  had  seen  him  ;  but  she  saw  that 
the  tears  were  streaming  down  his  cheeks  as  he  passed  her,  and 
she  expressed  no  surprise  that  he  had  left  the  Cottage  without 
going  through  the  formality  of  making  his  adieux. 

And  then  he  walked  up  to  town,  as  Norman  once  had  done 
after  a  parting  interview  with  her  whom  he  had  loved.  It 
might  be  difficult  to  say  which  at  the  moment  suflfered  the 
bitterest  grief. 


CHAPTER  XLIH. 

MILLBANK. 


The  immediate  neighborhood  of  Millbank  Penitentiary  is  not 
one  which  we  should,  for  its  own  sake,  choose  for  our  residence, 
either  on  account  of  its  natural  beauty,  or  the  excellence  of  its 
habitations.  That  it  is  a  salubrious  locality  must  be  presumed 
from  the  fact  that  it  has  been  selected  for  the  site  of  the  institu- 
tion in  question ;  but  salubrity,  though  doubtless  a  great  recom- 
mendation, would  hardly  reconcile  us  to  the  extremely  dull,  and 
one  might  almost  say,  ugly  aspect  wliich  this  district  bears. 


452  THE   THEEE    CLERKS. 

To  this  district,  hoAvever,  ugly  as  it  is,  we  must  ask  our 
readers  to  accompany  us,  while  we  pay  a  short  visit  to  poor 
Gertrude.  It  was  certainly  a  sad  change  from  her  comfortable 
nursery  and  elegant  drawing-room  near  Hyde  Park.  Gertrude 
had  hitherto  never  lived  in  an  ugly  house.  Surbiton  Cottage 
and  Albany  Place  were  the  only  two  homes  that  she  remem- 
bered, and  neither  of  them  was  such  as  to  give  her  much  fitting 
preparation  for  the  melancholy  shelter  which  she  found  at  No. 
5,  Paradise  Row,  Millbank. 

But  Gertrude  did  not  think  much  of  this  when  she  changed 
her  residence.  Early  one  morning,  leaning  on  Charley's  arm, 
she  had  trudged  down  across  the  Park,  through  Westminster, 
and  on  to  the  close  vicinity  of  the  prison  ;  and  here  they  sought 
for  and  obtained  such  accommodation  as  she  thought  fitting  to 
her  present  situation.  Charley  had  begged  her  to  get  into  a 
cab,  and  when  she  refused  that  had  implored  her  to  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  an  omnibus ;  but  Gertrude's  mind  was  now  set 
upon  economy ;  she  would  come  back,  she  said,  in  an  omnibus 
when  the  day  would  be  hotter,  and  she  would  be  alone,  but  she 
was  very  well  able  to  walk  the  distance  once. 

She  procured  for  seven  shillings  a  week  a  sitting-room  and 
bed-room,  from  whence  she  could  see  the  gloomy  prison 
walls,  and  also  a  truckle-bed  for  the  young  girl  whom  she 
was  to  bring  with  her  as  her  maid.  This  was  a  little  Hampton 
maiden,  whom  she  had  brought  from  the  country  to  act  as  fag 
and  deputy  to  her  grand  nurse  ;  but  the  grand  nurse  was  now 
gone,  and  the  fag  was  promoted  to  the  various  offices  of  nurse, 
lady's-maid,  and  parlor  servant.  The  rest  of  the  household 
in  Albany  Place  had  already  dispersed  with  the  discreet  view 
of  bettering  their  situations. 

Everything  in  the  house  was  given  up  to  pay  what  Alaric 
owed.  Independently  of  his  dreadful  liability  to  Madame 
Jaquetanape,  he  could  not  have  been  said  to  be  in  debt ; 
but  still,  like  most  other  men  who  live  as  he  had  done,  when 
his  career  was  thus  brought  to  a  sudden  close,  it  was  found 
that  there  were  many  people  looking  for  money.  There  were 
little  bills,  as  the  owners  said  of  them,  which  had  been  forgot- 
ten, of  course,  on  account  of  their  insignificance,  but  which 
being  so  very  little  might  now  be  paid,  equally,  of  course, 
withont  any  trouble.  It  is  astonishing  how  easy  it  is  to  accu- 
mulate three  or  four  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  little  bills,  when 
one  lives  before  the  world  in.  a  good  house  and  in  visible 
possession  of  a  good  income. 


MILLBANK.  453 

At  t,he  moment  of  Alaric's  conviction,  there  was  but  a  slender 
stock  of  money  forthcoming  for  these  little  bills.  The  necessary 
expense  of  his  trial, — and  it  had  been  by  no  means  trifling, — 
he  had,  of  course,  been  obliged  to  pay.  His  salary  had  been 
suspended,  and  all  the  money  that  he  could  lay  his  hands  on 
had  been  given  up  towards  making  restitution  towards  the 
dreadful  sum  of  20,000/.  that  had  been  his  ruin.  The  bills, 
however,  did  not  come  in  till  after  his  trial,  and  then  there  was 
but  little  left  but  the  furniture. 

As  the  new  trustees  employed  on  behalf  of  Madame  Jaque- 
tanape  and  Mr.  Figgs  were  well  aware  that  they  had  much  more 
to  expect  from  the  generosity  of  Tudor's  friends  than  from  any 
legal  seizure  of  his  property,  they  did  not  interfere  in  the  dispo- 
sal of  the  chairs  and  tables.  But  not  on  that  account  did  Ger- 
trude conceive  herself  entitled  to  make  any  use  on  her  own  be- 
half of  such  money  as  might  come  into  her  hands.  The  bills 
should  be  paid,  and  then  every  farthing  that  could  be  collected 
should  be  given  towards  lessening  the  deficiency.  Six  thousand 
pounds  had  already  been  made  up  by  the  joint  efforts  of  Nor- 
man and  Captain  Cuttwater.  TJndy  Scott's  acknowledgment 
for  the  other  four  thousand  had  been  offered,  but  the  new  trus- 
tees declined  to  accept  it  as  of  any  value  whatsoever.  They 
were  equally  incredulous  as  to  the  bridge  shares,  which  from 
that  day  to  this  have  never  held  up  their  heads,  even  to  the 
modest  height  of  half-a-crown  a  share. 

Gertrude's  efforts  to  make  the  most  of  everything  had  been 
unceasing.  When  her  husband  was  sentenced,  she  had  in  her 
possession  a  new  -dress  and  some  finery  for  her  baby,  which 
were  not  yet  paid  for ;  these  she  took  back  with  her  own  hand, 
off'ering  to  the  milliners  her  own  trinkets  by  way  of  compensa- 
tion for  their  loss.  When  the  day  for  removal  came,  she  took 
with  her  nothing  that  she  imagined  could  be  sold.  She  would 
have  left  the  grander  part  of  her  own  wardrobe,  if  the  auction- 
eers would  have  undertaken  to  sell  it.  Some  few  things,  books 
and  trifling  household  articles,  which  she  thought  were  dear  to 
Alaric,  she  packed  up ;  and  such  were  sent  to  Hampton.  On 
the  day  of  her  departure  she  dressed  herself  in  a  plain  dark 
gown,  one  that  was  almost  mourning,  and  then,  with  her  baby 
in  her  lap,  and  her  young  maid  beside  her,  and  Charley  fronting 
her  in  the  cab,  she  started  for  her  new  home. 

I  had  almost  said  that  her  pride  had  left  her.  Such  an  asser- 
tion would  be  a  gross  libel  on  her.  No ;  she  was  perhaps 
prouder  than  ever,  as  she  left  her  old  home.     There  was  a  hu- 


454  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

mility  in  lier  cheap  dress,  in  her  large  straw  bonnet  coming  far 
over  her  face,  in  her  dark  gloves  and  little  simple  collar ;  nay, 
there  was  a  hmnility  in  her  altered  voice,  and  somewhat  chas- 
tened mien  ;  but  the  spirit  of  the  woman  was  wholly  unbroken. 
She  had  even  a  pride  in  her  very  position,  in  her  close  and  dear 
tie  with  the  convicted  prisoner.  She  was  his  for  better  and  for 
worse ;  she  would  now  show  him  what  was  her  idea  of  the  vow 
she  had  made.  To  the  men  who  came  to  ticket  and  number 
the  furniture,  to  the  tradesmen's  messengers  who  called  for 
money,  to  the  various  workmen  with  whom  the  house  was  then 
invaded,  she  was  humble  enough  ;  but  had  Mrs.  Val  come  across 
her  with  pity,  or  the  Miss  Neverbends  with  their  sententious 
twaddlings,  she  would  have  been  prouder  than  ever.  Fallen  in- 
deed !  She  had  had  no  fall ;  nor  had  he  ;  he  was  still  a  man, 
with  a  greater  aggregate  of  good  in  him  than  falls  to  the  aver- 
age lot  of  mortals.  Who  would  dare  to  tell  her  that  he  had 
fallen  ?  'Twas  thus  that  her  pride  was  still  strong  within  ]ier ; 
and  as  it  supported  her  through  this  misery,  who  can  blame  her 
for  it  ? 

She  was  allowed  into  the  prison  twice  a  week ;  on  Tuesdays 
and  Fridays  she  was  permitted  to  spend  one  hour  with  her  hus- 
band, and  to  take  her  child  with  her.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to^ 
say  that  she  was  punctual  to  the  appointed  times.  This,  how- 
ever, occupied  but  a  short  period,  even  of  those  looked-for  days  ; 
and  in  spite  of  her  pride,  and  her  constant  needle,  the  weary 
six  months  went  from  her  all  too  slowly. 

Nor  did  they  pass  with  swifter  foot  within  the  prison.  Alaric 
was  allowed  the  use  of  books  and  pens  and  paper,  but  even 
with  these  he  found  a  day  in  prison  to  be  almost  an  unendura- 
ble eternity.  This  was  the  real  punishment  of  his  guilt ;  it  was 
not  that  he  could  not  eat  well,  and  lie  soft,  or  enjoy  the  com- 
forts which  had  always  surrounded  him  :  but  that  the  day  would 
not  pass  away.  The  slowness  of  the  lagging  hours  nearly  drove 
him  mad.  He  made  a  thousand  resolutions  as  to  reading,  writ- 
ing, and  employment  for  his  mind.  He  attempted  to  learn 
whole  pages  by  rote,  and  to  fatigue  himself  to  rest  by  exercise 
of  his  memory.  But  his  memory  would  not  work ;  his  mind 
would  continue  idle ;  he  was  impotent  over  his  own  faculties. 
Oh,  if  he  could  only  sleep  while  those  horrid  weeks  were  pass- 
ing over  him ! 

All  hope  of  regaining  his  situation  had  of  course  passed  from 
him,  all  hope  of  employment  in  England.  Emigration  must 
now  be  his  lot ;  and  hers  also,  and  the  lot  of  that  young  one 


MILLBANK.  455 

that  was  already  born  to  tliern,  and  of  that  other  one  who  was, 
alas  !  now  coming  to  the  world,  whose  fate  it  would  be  first  to 
see  the  light  under  the  walls  of  its  father's  prison. — Yes,  they 
must  emigrate. — But  there  was  nothing  so  very  terrible  in  that. 
Alaric  felt  that  even  his  utter  poverty  would  be  no  misfortune 
if  only  his  captivity  were  over.  Poverty  ! — how  could  any  man 
be  poor  who  had  liberty  to  roam  the  world  ? 

AVe  all  of  us  acknowledge  that  the  educated  man  who  breaks 
the  laws  is  justly  liable  to  a  heavier  punishment  than  he  who 
has  been  born  in  ignorance,  and  bred,  as  it  were,  in  the  lap  of 
sin  ;  but  we  hardly  realize  how  much  greater  is  the  punishment 
which,  when  he  is  punished,  the  educated  man  is  forced  to 
undergo.  Confinement  to  the  man  whose  mind  has  never  been 
lifted  above  vacancy,  is  simply  remission  from  labor.  Confine- 
ment with  labor,  is  simply  the  enforcement  of  that  which  has 
hitherto  been  his  daily  lot.  But  what  must  a  prison  be  to  him 
whose  intellect  has  received  the  polish  of  the  world's  poetry, 
who  has  known  what  it  is  to  feed  more  than  the  belly,  to  require 
other  aliment  than  bread  and  meat  ? 

And  then,  what  does  the  poor  criminal  lose  ?  His  all,  it  will 
be  said  ;  and  the  rich  can  lose  no  more.  But  this  is  not  so. 
No  man  lases  his  all  by  any  sentence  which  a  human  judge  can 
inflict.  No  man  so  loses  anything  approaching  to  his  all,  how- 
ever much  he  may  have  lost  before.  But  the  one  man  has  too 
often  had  no  self-respect  to  risk ;  the  other  has  stood  high  in 
his  own  esteem,  has  held  his  head  proudly  before  the  world,  has 
aspired  to  walk  in  some  way  after  the  fashion  of  a  god.  Alaric 
had  so  aspired,  and  how  must  he  have  felt  during  those  prison 
days  !  Of  what  nature  must  his  thoughts  have  been  when  they 
turned  to  Gertrude  and  his  child !  His  sin  had  indeed  been 
heavy,  and  heavy  was  the  penalty  which  he  suff"ered. 

When  they  had  been  thus  living  for  about  three  months, 
Gertrude's  second  child  was  born.  Mrs.  Woodward  w^as  with 
her  at  the  time,  and  she  had  suffered  but  little,  except  that  for 
three  weeks  she  was  unable  to  see  her  husband;  then,  in  the 
teeth  of  all  counsel,  and  in  opposition  to  all  medical  warning, 
she  could  resist  no  longer,  and  carried  the  new-born  stranger  to 
his  father. 

"  Poor  little  wretch  !"  said  Alaric,  as  he  stooped  to  kiss  him. 

"Wretch!"  said  Gertrude,  looking  up'to  him  with  a  smile 
upon  her  face — "  he  is  no  wretch.  He  is  a  sturdy  little  man, 
that  shall  yet  live  to  make  your  heart  dance  with  joy." 

Mrs.  Woodward  came  often  to  see  her.     She  did   not  stay, 


456  THE   THKEE   CLERKS. 

for  there  was  no  bed  in  which  she  could  have  slept ;  but  the 
train  put  her  down  at  Vauxhall,  and  she  had  but  to  pass  the 
bridge,  and  she  was  close  to  Gertrude's  lodgings.  And  now  the 
six  months  had  nearly  gone  by,  when,  by  appointment,  she 
brought  Norman  with  her.  At  this  time  he  had  given  up  his 
clerkship  at  the  Weights  and  Measures,  and  was  about  to  go  to 
Xormansgrove  for  the  remainder  of  the  winter.  Both  Alaric 
and  Norman  had  shown  a  great  distaste  to  meet  each  other. 
But  Harry's  heart  softened  towards  Gertrude.  Her  conduct 
during  her  husband's  troubles  had  been  so  excellent,  that  he 
could  not  but  forgive  her  the  injuries  which  he  fancied  he  owed 
to  her. 

Everything  was  now  prepared  for  their  departure.  They 
were  to  sail  on  the  very  day  after  Alaric's  liberation,  so  as  to 
save  him  from  the  misery  of  meeting  those  who  might  know  him. 
And  now  Harry  came  with  Mrs.  Woodward  to  bid  farewell, 
probably  for  ever  on  this  side  the  grave,  to  her  whom  he  had 
once  look-ed  on  as  his  own.  How  different  were  their  lots  now  ! 
Harry  was  Mr.  Norman,  of  Normansgrove,  immediately  about 
to  take  his  place  as  the  squire  of  his  parish,  to  sit  among 
brother  magistrates,  to  decide  about  roads  and  poachers,  parish 
rates  and  other  all-absorbing  topics,  to  be  a  rural  iriagistrate, 
and  fill  a  place  among  perhaps  the  most  fortunate  of  the  world's 
inhabitants.  Gertrude  was  the  wife  of  a  convicted  felon,  who 
was  about  to  come  forth  from  his  prison  in  utter  poverty,  a  man 
who,  in  such  a  catalogue  as  the  world  makes  of  its  inhabitants, 
would  be  ranked  among  the  very  lowest. 

And  did  Gertrude  even  now  regret  her  choice  ?  No,  not 
for  a  moment !  She  still  felt  aertain  in  hot-t^avt  of  hearts  that 
she  had  loved  the  one  who  was  the  most  worthy  of  a  woman's 
love.  We  cannot,  probably,  all  agree  in  her  opinion  ;  but  we 
will  agree  in  this,  at  least,  that  she  was  now  right  to  hold  such 
opinion.  Had  Normansgrove  stretched  from  one  boundary  of 
the  county  to  the  other,  it  would  have  weighed  as  nothing. 
Had  Harry's  virtues  been  as  bright  as  burnished  gold — and 
indeed  they  had  been  bright — they  would  have  weighed  as 
nothing.  A  nobler  stamp  of  manhood  was  on  her  husband — 
so  at  least  Gertrude  felt; — and  manhood  is  the  one  virtue 
which  in  a  woman's  breast  outweighs  all  others. 

They  had  not  met' since  the  evening  on  which  Gertrude  had 
declared  to  him  that  she  never  could  love  hira ;  and  Norman, 
as  he  got  out  of  the  cab  with  Mrs.  Woodward,  at  No.  5, 
Paradise  Row,  Millbank,  felt  his  heart  beat  within  him  almost 


MILLBANK.  457 

as  strongly  as  he  had  done  when  he  was  about  to  propose  to 
her.  He  followed  Mrs.  Woodward  into  the  dingy  little  house, 
and  immediately  found  himself  in  Gertrude's  presence. 

I  should  exaggerate  the  fact  were  I  to  say  that  he  would  not 
have  known  her ;  but  had  he  met  her  elsewhere,  met  her 
where  he  did  not  expect  to  meet  her,  he  would  have  looked  at 
her  more  than  once  before  he  felt  assured  that  he  was  looking 
at  Gertrude  Woodward.  It  was  not  that  she  had  grown  pale, 
or  worn,  or  haggard  ;  though,  indeed,  her  face  had  on  it  that 
weighty  look  of  endurance  which  care  will  always  give ;  it  was 
not  that  she  had  lost  her  beauty,  and  become  unattractive  in 
his  eyes  ;  but  that  the  whole  nature  of  her  mien  and  form,  the 
very  trick  of  her  gait  was  changed.  Her  eye  was  as  bright  as 
ever,  but  it  was  steady,  composed,  and  resolved  ;  her  lips  were 
set  and  compressed,  and  there  was  no  playfulness  round  her 
mouth.  Her  hair  was  still  smooth  and  bright,  but  it  was  more 
brushed  off  from  her  temples  than  it  had  been  of  yore,  and  was 
partly  covered  by  a  bit  of  black  lace,  which  we  presume  we 
must  call  a  cap  ;  here  and  there,  too,  through  it,  Norman's 
quick  eye  detected  a  few  grey  hairs.  She  was  stouter  too  than 
she  had  been,  or  else  she  seemed  to  be  so  from  the  changes  in 
ber  dress.  Her  step  fell  heavier  on  the  floor  than  it  used  to 
do,  and  her  voice  was  quicker  and  more  decisive  in  its  tones. 
When  she  spoke  to  her  mother,  she  did  so  as  one  sister  might 
do  to  another ;  and,  indeed,  Mrs.  Woodward  seemed  to  exercise 
over  her  very  little  of  the  authority  of  a  parent.  The  truth 
was  that  Gertrude  had  altogether  ceased  to  be  a  girl,  had  alto- 
gether become  a  woman.  Linda,  with  whom  Norman  at  once 
compared  her,  though  but  one  year  younger,  was  still  a  child  in 
comparison  with  her  elder  sister.     Happy,  happy  Linda, 

Gertrude  had  certainly  proved  herself  to  be  an  excellent  wife  ; 
but  perhaps  she  might  have  made  herself  more  pleasing  to 
others  if  she  had  not  so  entirely  thrown  off  from  herself  all 
traces  of  juvenility.  Could  she,  in  this  respect,  have  taken  a 
lesson  from  her  mother,  she  would  have  been  a  wiser  w^oman. 
We  have  said  that  she  consorted  with  Mrs.  Woodward  as 
though  they  had  been  sisters  ;  but  one  might  have  said  that 
Gertrude  took  on  herself  the  manners  of  the  elder  sister.  It  is 
true  that  she  had  hard  duties  to  perform,  a  stern  world  to  over- 
come, an  up-hill  fight  before  her  with  poverty,  distress,  and 
almost,  nay,  absolutely,  with  degradation.  It  was  well  for  her 
and  Alaric  that  she  could  face  it  all  with  the  true  courage  of 
an  honest  woman.      But  yet  those  who  had  known  her  in  her 

20 


458  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

radiant  early  beauty  could  not  but  regret  that  tbe  young  fresh- 
ness of  early  years  should  all  have  been  laid  aside  so  soon. 

"  Linda,  at  any  rate,  far  exceeds  her  in  beauty,"  was  Norman's 
first  thought,  as  he  stood  for  a  moment  to  look  at  her — "  and 
then  Linda  too  is  so  much  more  feminine."  'Twas  thus  that 
Harry  Norman  consoled  himself  in  the  first  moment  of  his  first 
interview  with  Alaric's  wife.  And  he  was  right  in  his  thoughts. 
The  world  would  now  have  called  Linda  the  more  lovely  of  the 
two,  and  certainly  the  more  feminine  in  the  ladylike  sense  of 
the  word.  If,  however,  devotion  be  feminine,  and  truth  to  one 
selected  life's  companion,  if  motherly  care  be  so,  and  an  indomi- 
table sense  of  the  duties  due  to  one's  own  household,  then  Ger- 
trude was  not  deficient  in  feminine  character. 

"  You  find  me  greatly  altered,  Harry,  do  you  not  ? "  said  she, 
taking  his  hand  frankly,  and  perceiving  immediately  the  effect 
which  she  had  made  upon  him.  "  I  am  a  steady  old  matron, 
am  I  not  ? — with  a  bairn  on  each  side  of  me,"  and  she  pointed 
to  her  baby  in  the  cradle,  and  to  her  other  boy  sitting  on  his 
grandmother's  knee. 

Harry  said  he  did  find  her  altered.  It  was  her  dress,  he  said, 
and  the  cap  on  her  head. 

"  Yes,  Harry  ;  and  some  care  and  trouble  too.  To  you,  you 
know,  to  a  friend  such  as  you  are,  I  must  own  that  care  and 
trouble  do  tell  upon  one.  Not,  thank  God,  that  I  have  more 
than  I  can  bear ;  not  that  I  have  not  blessings  for  w^hich  I  can- 
not but  be  too  thankful." 

"  And  so  these  are  your  boys,  Gertrude  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  cheerfully ;  "  these  are  the  little  men,  that 
in  the  good  times  coming  will  be  managing  vast  kingdoms,  and 
giving  orders  to  this  worn-out  old  island  of  yours.  Alley,  my  boy, 
sing  your  new  song  about  the  'good  and  happy  land.'"  But 
Alley,  who  had  got  hold  of  his  grandmother's  watch,  and  was 
staring  with  all  his  eyes  at  the  stranger,  did  not  seem  much 
inclined  to  be  musical  at  the  present  moment. 

"  And  this  is  Charley's  godson,"  continued  Gertrude,  taking 
up  the  baby.  '*  Dear  Charley !  he  has  been  such  a  comfort  to 
me." 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  you  daily  from  him,"  said  Harjy. 

"  I  know  you  have — and  he  is  daily  talking  of  you,  Harry. 
And  so  he  should  do ;  so  we  all  should  do.  What  a  glorious 
change  this  is  for  him  !  is  it  not,  Harry  ? " 

Charley  by  this  time  had  torn  himself  away  from  Mr.  Snape 
and  the  navvies,  and  transferred  the  whole  of  his  oflBcial  zeal 


MILLBANK.  459 

and  energies  to  the  Weights  and  Measures.  The  manner  and 
reason  of  this  must,  however,  be  explained  in  a  subsequent  chapter. 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry,  "  he  has  certainly  got  into  a  better  office." 

"  And  he  will  do  well  there  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  he  will.  It  was  impossible  he  should  do  well  at 
that  other  place.  No  man  could  do  so.  He  is  quite  an  altered 
man  now.  The  only  fault  I  find  with  him  is  that  he  is  so  full 
of  his  heroes  and  heroinesu" 

"  So  he  is,  Harry ;  he  is  always  asking  me  what  he  is  to  do 
with  some  forlorn  lady  or  gentleman.  '  Oh,  smother  her ! '  I 
said  the  other  day.  'Well,'  said  he,  with  a  melancholy  gravity, 
'  I'll  try  it ;  but  I  fear  it  won't  answer.'  Poor  Charley  !  what 
a  friend  you  have  been  to  him,  Harry  !  " 

"  A  friend  !  "  said  Mrs.  AVoodward,  who  was  still  true  to  her 
adoration  of  Norman.  "  Indeed  he  has  been  a  friend — a  friend 
to  us  all.     Who  is  there  like  him  ? " 

Gertrude  could  have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  go  back  to  the 
subject  of  old  days,  and  tell  her  mother  that  there  was  some- 
body much  better  even  than  Harry  Norman.  But  the  present 
was  hardly  a  time  for  such  an  assertion  of  her  own  peculiar 
opinion. 

"  Yes,  Harry,"  she  said,  "  we  have  all  much,  too  much  to 
thank  you  for.     I  have  to  thank  you  on  his  account." 

"  0  no,"  said  he,  ungraciously  ;  "  there  is  nothing  to  thank 
me  for — not  on  his  account.     Your  mother  and  Captain  Cutt- 

water "  and  then  he  stopped  himself.    What  he  meant  was 

that  he  had  sacrificed  his  little  fortune — for  at  the  time  his 
elder  brother  had  still  been  living — not  to  rescue,  or  in  attempt- 
ing to  rescue,  his  old  fi'iend  from  misfortune — not,  at  least, 
because  that  man  had  been  his  friend ;  but  because  he  was  the 
husband  of  Gertrude  Woodward,  and  of  Mrs.  Woodward's 
daughter.  Could  he  have  laid  bare  his  heart,  he  would  have 
declared  that  Alaric  Tudor  owed  him  nothing ;  that  he  had 
never  forgiven,  never  could  forgive,  the  wrongs  he  had  received 
from  him  ;  but  that  he  had  forgiven  Alaric's  wife ;  and  that 
having  done  so  in  the  tenderness  of  his  heart,  he  had  been 
ready  to  give  up  all  that  he  possessed  for  her  protection.  He 
would  have  spared  Gertrude  what  pain  he  could ;  but  he  would 
not  lie,  and  speak  of  Alaric  Tudor  with  aff"ection. 

''  But  there  is,  Harry ;  there  is,"  said  Geitrude ;  "  much — too 
much — greatly  too  much.  It  is  that  now  weighs  me  down 
more  than  anything.  Oh !  Harry,  how  are  we  to  pay  you  all 
this  money?" 


460  THE   THKEE   CLERKS. 

"  It  is  with  Mrs.  Woodward,"  said  he  coldly,  "  and  Captain 
Outtwater,  not  with  me,  that  you  should  speak  of  that.  Mr. 
Tudor  owes  me  nothing." 

"  Oh,  Harry,  Harry,"  said  she,  "  do  not  call  him  Mr.  Tudor — 
pray,  pray ;  now  that  we  are  going — now  that  we  shall  never 
wound  your  sight  again !  do  not  call  him  Mr.  Tudor.  He  has 
done  wrong ;  I  do  not  deny  it ;  but  which  of  us  is  there  that 
has  not  ?" 

"  It  was  not  on  that  account,"  said  he ;  "I  could  forgive  all 
that." 

Gertrude  understood  him,  and  her  cheeks  and  brow  became 
tinged  with  red.  It  was  not  from  shame,  nor  yet  wholly  from 
a  sense  of  anger,  but  mingled  feelings  filled  her  heart ;  feelings 
which  she  could  in  nowise  explain.  "  If  you  have  forgiven  him 
that" — she  would  have  said,  had  she  thought  it  right  to  speak 
out  her  mind — "  if  you  have  forgiven  him  that,  then  there  is 
nothing  left  for  further  forgiveness." 

Gertrude  had  twice  a  better  knowledge  of  the  world  than  he 
had,  twice  a  quicker  perception  of  how  things  were  going,  and 
should  be  made  to  go.  She  saw  that  it  w^as  useless  to  refer 
further  to  her  husband.  Norman  had  come  there  at  her  request 
to  say  adieu  to  her ;  that  she  and  he,  who  had  been  friends 
since  she  was  a  child,  might  see  each  other  before  they  were 
separated  for  ever  by  half  a  world,  and  that  they  might  part  in 
love  and  charity.  She  would  be  his  sister-in-law,  he  would  be 
son  to  her  mother,  husband  to  her  Linda ;  he  had  been,  though  he 
now  denied  it,  her  husband's  staunchest  friend  in  his  extremity; 
and  it  would  have  added  greatly  to  the  bitterness  of  her  depar- 
ture had  she  been  forced  to  go  without  speaking  to  him  one 
kindly  word.  The  opportunity  was  given  to  her,  and  she  would 
not  utterly  mar  its  sweetness  by  insisting  on  his  injustice  to  her 
husband. 

They  all  remained  silent  for  a  while,  during  which  Gertrude 
fondled  her  baby,  and  Norman  produced  before  the  elder  boy 
some  present  that  he  had  bought  for  him. 

"  Now,  Alley,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  "  you're  a  made  man ; 
won't  that  do  beautifully  to  play  with  on -board  the  big  ship?" 

"  And  so,  Harry,  you  have  given  up  oflScial  life  altogether," 
said  Gertrude. 

"Yes,"  said  he — "the  last  day  of  the  last  year  saw  my  finale 
at  the  Weights  and  Measures.  I  did  not  live  long — officially — 
to  enjoy  my  promotion.     I  almost  wish  myself  back  again." 

"You'll  go  in  on  melting  days,  like  the  retired  tallow-chand- 


mtllbank:.  461 

ler,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  but,  joking  apart,  I  wisli  you  joy  on  your 
freedom  from  thraldom ;  a  government  office  in  England  is 
thraldom.  If  a  man  were  to  give  his  work  only,  it  would  be 
well.  All  men  who  have  to  live  by  labor  must  do  that;  but  a 
man  has  to  give  himself  as  well  as  his  work ;  to  sacrifice  his 
individuality ;  to  become  body  and  soul  a  part  of  a  lumbering 
old  machine." 

This  hardly  came  well  from  Gertrude,  seeing  that  Alaric  at 
any  rate  had  never  been  required  to  sacrifice  any  of  his  indivi- 
duality. But  she  was  determined  to  hate  all  the  antecedents 
of  his  life,  as  though  those  antecedents,  and  not  the  laxity  of  his 
own  principles,  had  brought  about  his  ruin.  She  was  prepared 
to  live  entirely  for  the  future,  and  to  look  back  on  her  London 
life  as  bad,  tasteless,  and  demoralising.  England  to  her  was  no 
longer  a  glorious  country;  for  England^s  laws  had  made  a  felon 
of  her  husband.  She  would  go  to  a  new  land,  new  hopes,  new 
ideas,  new  freedom,  new  work,  new  life,  and  new  ambition. 
Excelsior !  there  was  no  longer  an  excelsior  left  for  talent  and 
perseverance  in  this  eff'ete  country.  She  and  hers  would  soon 
find  room  for  their  energies  in  a  younger  land ;  and  as  she 
went  she  could  not  but  pity  those  whom  she  left  behind.  Her 
reasoning  was  hardly  logical,  but,  perhaps,  it  was  not  unfortunate. 

"  For  myself,"  said  Norman,  not  quite  following  all  this — "  I 
always  liked  the  Civil  Service,  and  now  I  leave  it  with  a  sort 
of  regret.  I  am  quite  glad  that  Charley  has  ray  old  desk ;  it 
will  keep  up  a  sort  of  tie  between  me  and  the  place." 

"  What  does  Linda  say  about  it,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Linda  and  I  are  both  of  Harry's  way  of  thinking,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward,  "  because  Normansgrove  is  such  a  distance." 

"Distance!"  repeated  Gertrude,  with  something  of  sorrow, 
but  more  of  scorn  in  her  tone.  "  Distance,  mamma  !  why  you 
can  get  to  her  between  breakfast  and  dinner.  Think  where 
Melbourne  is,  mamma  !  " 

"  It  has  nearly  broken  my  heart  to  think  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward.  * 

"And  you  will  still  have  Linda,  mamma,  and  our  darling 
Katie,  and  Harry,  and  dear  Charley.  If  the  idea  of  distance 
should  frighten  any  one  it  is  me.  But  nothing  shall  frighten 
me  while  I  have  my  husband  and  children.  Harry,  you  must 
not  let  mamma  be  too  often  alone  when  some  other  knight  shall 
have  come  and  taken  away  Katie." 

"  We  will  take  her  to  Normansgrove  for  good  and  all,  if  she 
will  let  us,"  said  Harry. 


462  THE   THEEE   CLERKS. 

And  now  tlie  time  came  for  them  to  part.  Harry  was  to  say 
good-bye  to  her,  and  tlien  to  see  her  no  more.  Early  on  the 
following  morning  Gertrude  was  to  go  to  Hampton  and  see 
Katie  for  the  last  time ;  to  see  Katie  for  the  last  time,  and  the 
Cottage,  and  the  shining  river,  and  all  the  well-known  objects 
among  which  she  had  passed  her  life.  To  Mrs.  Woodward,  to 
Linda,  and  Katie,  all  this  was  subject  of  inexpressible  melancholy; 
but  with  Gertrude  every  feeling  of  romance  seemed  to  have  been 
absorbed  by  the  realities  of  life.  She  would,  of  course,  go  to 
Katie,  and  give  her  a  farewell  embrace,  since  Katie  was  still  too 
weak  to  come  to  her  ;  she  would  say  farewell  to  Uncle  Bat,  to 
whom  she  and  Alaric  owed  so  much  ;  she  would  doubtless  shed 
a  tear  or  two,  and  feel  some  emotion  at  parting,  eve.n  from  the 
inanimate  associations  of  her  youth ;  but  all  this  would  now  im- 
press no  lasting  sorrow  cm  -her. 

She  was  eager  to  be  off,  eager  for  her  new  career,  eager  that 
he  should  stand  on  a  soil  where  he  could  once  more  face  his 
fellow-creatures  without  shame.  She  panted  to  put  thousands 
of  leagues  of  ocean  between  him  and  his  disgrace. 

On  the  following  morning  Gertrude  was  to  go  to  Hampton  for 
two  hours,  and  then  to  return  to  Millbank,  with  her  mother  and 
sister,  for  whose  accommodation  abed  had  been  hired  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. On  that  evening  Alaric  would  be  released  from 
his  prison;  and  then  before  daybreak  on  the  following  day 
they  were  to  take  their  way  to  the  far-off  docks,  and  place 
themselves  on  board  the  vessel  which  was  to  carry  them  to 
their  distant  home. 

"  God  bless  you,  Gertrude,"  said  Norman,  whose  eyes  were 
not  dry. 

"  God  Almighty  bless  you,  Harry,  you  and  Linda — and  make 
you  happy.  If  Linda  does  not  write  constantly,  very  constantly, 
you  must  do  it  for  her.  We  have  delayed  the  happiness  of  your 
marriage,  Harry, — you  must  forgive  us  that  as  well  as  all  our 
other  trespasses.     I  fear  Linda  will  never  forgive  that." 

"You  won't  find  her  unmerciful  on  that  score,"  said  he. 
"  Dear  Gertrude,  good-bye." 

She  put  up  her  face  to  him,  and  he  kissed  her,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.  "  He  bade  me  give  you  his  love,"  she  said,  in 
her  last  whisper;  "I  must,  you  know,  do  his  bidding." 

Norman's  heart  palpitated  so  that  he  could  hardly  compose 
his  voice  for  his  last  answer ;  but  even  then  he  would  not  be 
untrue  to  his  inexorable  obstinacy ;  he  could  not  send  his  love 
to  a  man  he  did  not  love.     "  Tell  him,"  said  he,  "that  he  has 


THE   CRIMINAL   POPULATION   IS   DISPOSED   OF.  463 

my  sincerest  wishes  for  success  wherever  he  may  be  ;  and  Ger- 
trude, I  need  hardly  say "  but  he  could  get  no  farther. 

And  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  XLIY. 

THE    CRIMINAL    POPULATION    IS    DISPOSED    OF. 

Before  we  put  Alaric  on  board  the  ship  which  is  to  take 
him  away  from  the  land  in  which  he  might  have  run  so  exalted 
a  career,  we  must  say  one  word  as  to  the  fate  and  fortunes  of 
his  old  friend  Undy  Scott.  This  gentleman  has  not  been  repre- 
sented in  our  pages  as  an  amiable  or  high-minded  person.  He 
has  indeed  been  the  bad  spirit  of  the  tale,  the  Seeva  of  our 
mythology,  the  devil  that  has  led  our  hero  into  temptation,  the 
incarnation  of  evil,  which  it  is  always  necessarj'-  that  the  novelist 
should  have  personified  in  one  of  his  characters  to  enable  him  to 
bring  about  his  misfortunes,  his  tragedies,  and  various  requisite 
catastrophes.  Scott  had  his  Varney  and  such-like ;  Dickens  his 
Bill  Sykes  and  such-like  ;  all  of  whom  are  properly  disposed  of 
before  the  end  of  those  volumes  in  which  are  described  their 
respective  careers.  I  have  ventured  to  introduce  to  my  readers, 
as  my  devil,  Mr.  Undy  Scott,  M.P.  for  the  Tillietudlem  district 
burghs ;  and  I  also  feel  myself  bound  to  dispose  of  him,  though 
of  him  I  regret  I  cannot  make  so  decent  an  end  as  was  done 
with  Sir  Richard  Varney  and  Bill  Sykes. 

He  deserves,  however,  as  severe  a  fate  as  either  of  those 
heroes.  With  the  former  we  will  not  attempt  to  compare  him, 
as  the  vices  and  devilry  of  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth  are  in 
no  way  similar  to  those  in  which  we  indulge ;  but  with  Bill 
Sykes  we  may  contrast  him,  as  they  flourished  in  the  same  era, 
and  had  their  points  of  similitude,  as  well  as  their  points  of 
difference. 

They  were  both  apparently  born  to  prey  on  their  own  species ; 
they  both  resolutely  adhered  to  a  fixed  rule  that  they  would  *in 
nowise  earn  their  bread,  and  to  a  rule  equally  fixed  that,  though 
they  would  earn  no  bread,  they  would  consume  much.  They 
were  both  of  them  blessed  with  a  total  absence  of  sensibility 
and  an  utter  disregard  to  the  pain  of  others,  and  had  no  other 
use  for  a  heart  than  that  of  a  machine  for  maintaining  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood.  It  is  but  little  to  say  that  neither  of 
them  ever  acted  on  principle,  on  a  knowledge,  that  is,  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  a  selection  of  the  right ;  in  their  studies  of  the 


464  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

science  of  evil  they  had  progressed  much  further  than  this,  and 
had  taught  themselves  to  believe  that  that  which  other  men 
called  virtue  was,  on  its  own  account,  to  be  regarded  as  mawk- 
ish, insipid,  and  useless  for  such  purposes  as  the  acquisition  of 
money  or  pleasure ;  whereas  vice  was,  on  its  own  account,  to  be 
preferred,  as  offering  the  only  road  to  those  things  which  they 
were  desirous  of  possessing. 

So  far  there  was  a  great  resemblance  between  Bill  Sykes  and 
Mr.  Scott ;  but  then  came  the  points  of  difference,  which  must 
give  to  the  latter  a  great  pre-eminence  in  the  eyes  of  that  mas- 
ter whom  they  had  both  so  worthily  served.  Bill  could  not 
boast  the  merit  of  selecting  the  course  which  he  had  run  ;  he 
had  served  the  Devil,  having  had,  as  it  were,  no  choice  in  the 
matter ;  he  was  born  and  bred  and  educated  an  evil-doer,  and 
could  hardly  have  deserted  from  the  colors  of  his  great  Cap- 
tain, without  some  spiritual  interposition  to  enable  him  to  do 
so.  To  Undy  a  warmer  reward  must  surely  be  due  :  he  had 
been  placed  fairly  on  the  world's  surface,  with  power  to  choose 
between  good  and  bad,  and  had  deliberately  taken  the  latter ; 
to  him  had,  at  any  rate,  been  explained  the  theory  of  meum  and 
tuum,  and  he  had  resolved  that  he  liked  tuum  better  than 
meum;  he  had  learnt  that  there  is  a  God  ruling  over  us,  and  a 
devil  hankering  after  us,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  belong  to  the  latter.  Bread  and  water  would  have  come 
to  him  naturally  without  any  villany  on  his  part,  ay,  and  meat 
and  milk,  and  wine  and  oil,  the  fat  things  of  the  world  ;  but  he 
elected  to  be  a  villain ;  he  liked  to  do  the  Devil's  bidding. — 
Surely  he  was  the  better  servant ;  surely  he  shall  have  the 
richer  reward.  '^■ 

And  yet  poor  Bill  Sykes,  for  whom  here  I  would  willingly 
say  a  word  or  two,  could  I,  by  so  saying,  miti'gate  the  wrath 
against  him,  is  always  held  as  the  more  detestable  scoundrel. 
Lady,  you  now  know  them  both.  Is  it  not  the  fact,  that, 
knowing  him  as  you  do,  you  could  spend  a  pleasant  hour 
enough  with  Mr.  Scott,  sitting  next  to  him  at  dinner  ;  whereas 
your  blood  would  creep  within  you,  your  hair  would  stand  on 
end,  your  voice  would  stick  in  your  throat,  if  you  were  suddenly 
told  that  Bill  Sykes  was  in  yoar  presence  ? 

Poor  Bill !  1  have  a  sort  of  love  for  him,  as  he  walks  about 
wretched  with  that  dog  of  his,  though  I  know  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  hang  him.  Yes,  Bill ;  I,  your  friend,  cannot  gainsay 
that,  must  acknowledge  that.  Hard  as  the  case  may  be,  you 
must  be  hung;  hung  out  of  the  way  of  further  mischief;  ray 


THE   CRIMINAL   POPULATION   IS    DISPOSED    OF.  465 

spoons,  my  wife's  tliroat,  my  cliildrcn's  brains,  demand  that.  You, 
Bill,  and  polecats,  and  such-like,  must  be  squelched  when  we  can 
come  across  you,  seeing  that  you  make  yourself  so  universally 
disagreeable.  It  is  your  ordained  nature  to  be  disagreeable  ;  you 
plead  silently.  I  know  it ;  I  admit  the  hardship  of  your  case  ; 
but  still,  my  Bill,  self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature. 
You  must  be  hung.  But,  while  hanging  you,  I  admit  that  you 
are  more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  There  is  another,  Bill, 
another,  who  will  surely  take  account  of  this  in  some  way, 
though  it  is  not  for  me  to  tell  you  how. 

Yes,  I  hang  Bill  Sykes  with  soft  regret ;  but  with  W'hat  a 
savage  joy,  with  what  exaltation  of  heart,  with  what  alacrity  of 
eager  soul,  with  what  aptitude  of  mind  to  the  deed,  would  I 
hang  my  friend,  Undy  Scott,  the  member  of  Parliament  for  the 
Tillietudlem  burghs,  if  I  could  but  get  at  his  throat  for  such  a 
purpose !  Hang  him  !  ay,  as  high  as  Haman  1  In  this  there 
would  be  no  regret,  no  vacillation  of  purpose,  no  doubt  as  to 
the  propriety  of  the  sacrifice,  no  feeling  that  I  was  so  treating 
him,  not  for  his  own  desert,  but  for  my  advantage. 

We  hang  men,  I  believe,  with  this  object  only,  that  we  should 
deter  others  from  crime  ;  but  in  hanging  Bill,  we  shall  hardly 
deter  his  brother.  Bill  Sykes  must  look  to  crime  for  his  bread, 
seeing  that  he  has  been  so  educated,  seeing  that  we  have  not 
yet  taught  him  another  trade. 

But  if  I  could  hang  Undy  Scott,  I  think  I  should  deter  some 
others.  The  figure  of  Undy  swinging  from  a  gibbet  at  the 
broad  end  of  Lombard  Street,  would  have  an  eff"ect.  Ah !  my 
fingers  itch  to  be  at  the  rope. 

Fate,  however,  and  the  laws  are  averse.  To  gibbet  him,  in 
one  sense,  would  have  been  my  privilege,  had  I  drunk  deeper 
from  that  Castalian  rill  whose  dark  waters  are  tinged  with  the 
gall  of  poetic  indignation ;  but  as  in  other  sense  I  may  not  hang 
him,  I  will  tell  how  he  was  driven  from  his  club,  and  how  he 
ceased  to  number  himself  among  the  legislators  of  his  country. 

Undy  Scott,  among  his  other  good  qualities,  possessed  an 
enormous  quantity  of  that  which  schoolboys  in  these  days  call 
"cheek."  He  was  not  easily  browbeaten,  and  was  generally 
prepared  to  browbeat  others.  Mr.  Chaff"anbrass  certainly  did 
get  the  better  of  him ;  but  then  Mr.  ChafFanbrass  was  on  his 
own  dunghill.  Could  Undy  Scott  have  had  Mr.  Chaftanbrass 
down  at  the  clubs,  there  would  have  been,  perhaps,  another  tale 
to  tell. 

Give  me  the  cock  that  can  crow  in  any  yard ;  such  cocks, 

20* 


466  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

however,  we  know  are  scarce.  TJndy  Scott,  as  lie  left  the  Old 
Bailey,  was  aware  that  he  had  cut  a  sorry  figure,  and  felt  that 
he  must  immediately  do  something  to  put  himself  right  again, 
at  any  rate  before  his  portion  of  the  world.  He  must  perform 
some  exploit  uncommonly  cheeky  in  order  to  cover  his  late  dis- 
comfiture. To  get  the  better  of  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  had  been  beyond  him  ;  but  he  might  yet  do  something 
at  the  clubs  to  set  aside  the  unanimous  verdict  which  had  been 
given  against  him  in  the  city.  Nay,  he  must  do  something, 
unless  he  was  prepared  to  go  to  the  wall  utterl}^,  and  at  once. 

Going  to  the  wall  with  Undy,  would  mean  absolute  ruin ;  he 
lived  but  on  the  cheekiness  of  his  gait  and  habits ;  he  had 
become  member  of  Parliament,  Government  official,  railway 
director,  and  club  aristocrat,  merely  by  dint  of  cheek.  He  had 
now  received  a  great  blow  ;  he  had  stood  before  a  crowd,  and 
been  annihilated  by  the  better  cheek  of  Mr.  Chaffanbrass,  and, 
therefore,  it  behoved  him  at  once  to  do  something.  When  the 
perfume  of  the  rose  grows  stale,  the  flower  is  at  once  thrown 
aside,  and  carried  oflf  as  foul  refuse.  It  behoved  Undy  to  see 
that  his  perfume  was  maintained  in  its  purity,  or  he,  too,  would 
be  carried  off. 

The  club  to  which  Undy  more  especially  belonged,  was  called 
the  Downing ;  and  of  this  Alaric  was  also  a  member,  having 
been  introduced  into  it  by  his  friend.""  Here  had  Alaric  spent  by 
far  too  many  of  the  hours  of  his  married  life,  and  had  become 
well  known  and  popular.  At  the  time  of  his  conviction,  the 
summer  was  far  advanced  ;  it  was  then  August ;  but  Parliament 
was  still  sitting,  and  there  were  sufficient  club  men  remaining  in 
London  to  create  a  daily  gathering  at  the  Downing. 

On  the  day  following  that  on  which  the  verdict  was  found, 
Undy  convened  a  special  committee  of  the  club,  in  order  that 
he  might  submit  to  it  a  proposition  which  he  thought  it  indis- 
pensable should  come  from  him;  so,  at  least,  he  declared.  The 
committee  did  assemble,  and  when  Undy  met  it,  he  saw  among 
the  faces  before  him  not  a  few  with  w^hom  he  would  w^illingly  have 
dispensed.  However,  he  had  come  there  to  exercise  his  cheek; 
no  one  there  should  cow  him  ;  the  wig  of  Mr.  Chaffanbrass  was, 
at  any  rate,  absent. 

And  so  he   submitted  his  proposition.     I  need  not  trouble . 
my  readers  with  the  neat  little  speech  in  which  it  was  made. 
Undy  was  true  to  himself,  and  the  speech  was  neat.     The  pro- 
position was  this :  that  as  he  had  unfortunately  been  the  means 
of  introducing  Mr.  Alaric  Tudor  to  the  club,  he  considered  it 


THE   CRIMINAL   POPULATION   IS   DISPOSED    OF.  467 

to  be  liis  duty  to  suggest  that  the  name  of  that  gentleman 
should  be  struck  off  the  books.  He  then  expressed  his  unmiti- 
gated disgust  at  the  crime  of  which  Tudor  had  been  found 
guilty,  uttered  some  nice  little  platitudes  in  the  cause  of  virtue, 
and  expressed  a  hope  "  that  he  might  so  far  refer  to  a  personal 
matter  as  to  say  that  his  father's  family  would  take  care  that 
the  lady,  whose  fortune  had  been  the  subject  of  the  trial,  should 
not  lose  one  penny  through  the  dishonesty  of  her  trustee." 

Oh,  Undy,  as  high  as  Haman,  if  I  could  !  as  high  as  Haman ! 
and  if  not  in  Lombard  Street,  then  on  that  open  ground  where 
"Waterloo  Place  bisects  Pall  Mall,  so  that  all  the  clubs  might 
see  thee ! 

"  He  would  advert,"  he  said,  "  to  one  other  matter,  though, 
perhaps,  his  doing  so  was  unnecessary.  It  was  probably  known 
to  them  all  that  he  had  been  a  witness  at  the  late  trial ;  an 
iniquitous  attempt  had  been  made  by  the  prisoner's  counsel  to 
connect  his  name  with  the  prisoner's  guilt.  They  all  too  well 
knew  the  latitude  allowed  to  lawyers  in  the  criminal  courts,  to 
pay  much  attention  to  this.  Had  he  "  (Undy  Scott)  "  in  any 
way  infringed  the  laws  of  his  country,  he  was  there  to  answer 
for  it.  But  he  would  go  further  than  this,  and  declare  that  if 
any  member  of  that  club  doubted  his  probity  in  the  matter,  he 
was  perfectly  willing  to  submit  to  such  member  documents 
which  would,"  &c.,  &c. 

He  finished  his  speech,  and  an  awful  silence  reigned  around 
him.  No  enthusiastic  ardor  welcomed  the  well-loved  TJndy 
back  to  his  club,  and  comforted  him  after  the  rough  usage  of 
the  unpolished  Chaffanbrass.  No  ten  or  twenty  combined 
voices  expressed,  by  their  clamorous  negation  of  the  last-pro- 
posed process,  that  their  Undy  was  above  reproach.  The  eyes 
around  looked  into  hira  with  no  friendly  alacrity.  Undy, 
Undy,  more  cheek  still,  still  more  cheek,  or  you  are  surely 
lost. 

"If,"  said  he,  in  a  well-assumed  indignant  tone  of  injured 
innocence,  "  there  be  any  in  the  club  who  do  suspect  me  of 
anything  unbecoming  a  gentleman  in  this  affair,  I  am  willing 
to  retire  from  it  till  the  matter  shall  have  been  investigated ; 
but  in  such  case  I  demand  that  the  investigation  be  im- 
mediate." 

Oh,  Undy,  Undy,  the  supply  of  cheek  is  not  bad ;  it  is  all 
but  unlimited ;  but  yet  it  suffices  thee  not.  "  Can  there  be 
positions  in  this  modern  West  End  world  of  mine,"  thought 
Undy  to  himself,  "  in  which  cheek,  unbounded  cheek,  will  not 


468  THE   THEEE   CLEEKS. 

suffice  ?"  Oh,  TJndy,  they  are  rare ;  but  still  there  are  such, 
and  this,  unfortunately  for  thee,  seemeth  to  be  one  of  them. 

And  then  got  up  a  discreet  old  baronet,  one  who  moveth  not 
often  in  the  affairs  around  him,  but  who,  when  he  moveth,  stirreth 
many  waters ;  a  man  of  broad  acres,  and  a  quiet,  well-assured 
fame  which  has  grown  to  him  without  his  seeking  it,  as  barna- 
cles grow  to  the  stout  keel  when  it  has  been  long  a-swimming ; 
him,  of  all  men,  would  Undy  have  wished  to  see  unconcerned 
with  these  matters. 

Not  in  many  words,  nor  eloquent  did  Sir  Thomas  speak. 
"  He  felt  it  his  duty,"  he  said,  "  to  second  the  proposal  made 
by  Mr.  Scott  for  removing  Mr.  Tudor  from  amongst  them.  He 
had  watched  this  trial  with  some  care,  and  he  pitied  Mr.  Tudor 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  He  would  not  have  thought 
that  he  could  have  felt  so  strong  a  sympathy  for  a  man  con- 
victed of  dishonesty.  But  Mr.  Tudor  had  been  convicted,  and 
he  must  incur  the  penalties  of  his  fault.  One  of  these  penalties 
must,  undoubtedly,  be  his  banishment  from  this  club.  He 
therefore  seconded  Mr.  Scott's  proposal." 

He  then  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  having  finished  that  task ; 
but  yet  he  did  not  sit  down.  Why,  oh,  why  does  he  not  sit 
down  ?  why,  oh  TJndy,  does  he  thus  stand,  looking  at  the 
surface  of  the  table  on  which  he  is  leaning  ? 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "he  had  another  proposition  to  make; 
and  that  was  that  Mr.  IJndecimus  Scott  should  also  be  expelled 
from  the  club,"  and  having  so  spoken,  in  a  voice  of  unusual 
energy,  he  then  sat  down. 

And  now,  TJndy,  you  may  as  well  pack  up,  and  be  off,  with- 
out further  fuss,  to  Boulogne,  Ostend,  or  some  such  idle  Elysium, 
with  such  money-scrapings  as  you  may  be  able  to  collect 
together.  No  importunity  will  avail  thee  anything  against  the 
judges  and  jurymen  who  are  now  trying  thee.  One  word  from 
that  silent  old  baronet  was  worse  to  thee  than  all  that  Mr. 
Chaffanbrass  could  say.     Come !  pack  up  ;  and  begone. 

But  he  was  still  a  member  of  Parliament.  The  Parliament, 
however,  was  about  to  be  dissolved,  and,  of  course,  it  would  be 
useless  for  him  to  stand  again ;  he,  like  Mr.  M'Buffer,  had  had 
his  spell  of  it,  and  he  recognised  the  necessity  of  vanishing. 
He  at  first  thought  that  his  life  as  a  legislator  might  be  allowed 
to  come  to  a  natural  end,  that  he  might  die  as  it  were  in  his 
bed,  without  suffering  the  acute  pain  of  applying  for  the  Chil- 
tern  Hundreds.  In  this,  however,  he  found  himself  wrong. 
The  injured  honor  of  all  the  Tillietudlemites  rose  against  him 


THE   CRIMINAL   POPULATION    IS   DISPOSED    OF.  469 

with  one  indignant  shout ;  and  a  rumor,  a  horrid  rumor,  of  a 
severer  fate  met  his  ears.  He  applied  at  once  for  the  now 
coveted  sinecure, — and  was  refused.  Her  Majesty  could  not 
consent  to  intrust  to  him  the  duties  of  the  situation  in  question 
;  and  in  lieu  thereof  the  House  expelled  him  by  its  unani- 
mous voice. 

And  now,  indeed,  it  was  time  for  him  to  pack  and  be  gone. 
He  was  now  liable  to  the  vulgarest  persecution  from  the  vulgar 
herd  ;  his  very  tailor  and  bootmaker  would  beleaguer  him,  and 
coarse  unwashed  bailiffs  take  him  by  the  collar.  Yes,  now 
indeed,  it  was  time  to  be  off. 

And  off  he  was.  He  paid  one  fleeting  visit  to  my  Lord  at 
Cauldkale  Castle,  collecting  what  little  he  might ;  another  to 
his  honorable  wife,  adding  some  slender  increase  to  his  little 
budget,  and  then  he  was  off.  Whither,  it  is  needless  to  say — 
to  Hamburg  perhaps,  or  to  Ems,  or  the  richer  tables  of  Hom- 
burg.  How  he  flourished  for  a  while  with  ambiguous  success  ; 
how  he  talked  to  the  young  English  tourists  of  what  he  had 
done  when  in  Parliament,  especially  for  the  rights  of  married 
women  ;  how  he  poked  his  "Honorable"  card  in  every  one's 
way,  and  lugged  Lord  Gaberlunzie  into  all  conversations  ;  how 
his  face  became  pimply  and  his  wardrobe  seedy ;  and  how  at 
last  his  wretched  life  will  ooze  out  from  him  in  some  dark  cor- 
ner, like  the  filthy  juice  of  a  decayed  fungus  which  makes 
hideous  the  hidden  wall  on  which  it  bursts,  all  this  is  uline- 
cessary  more  particularly  to  describe.  He  is  probably  still  living, 
and  those  who  desire  his  acquaintance  will  find  him  creeping 
round  some  gambling  table,  and  trying  to  look  as  though  he 
had  in  his  pocket  ample  means  to  secure  those  hoards  of  money 
which  men  are  so  listlessly  raking  about.  From  our  view  he 
has  now  vanished. 

It  was  a  bitter  February  morning,  when  two  cabs  stood  pack- 
ing themselves  at  No.  5,  Paradise  Row,  Millbank.  It  was  hardly 
yet  six  o'clock,  and  Paradise  Row  was  dark  as  Erebus ;  that 
solitary  gas-light  sticking  out  from  the  wall  of  the  prison  only 
made  darkness  visible;  the  tallow  candles  which  were  brought 
in  and  out  with  every  article  that  was  stuffed  under  a  seat,  or 
into  a  corner,  would  get  themselves  blown  out;  and  the  sleet 
which  was  falling  fast  made  the  wicks  wet,  so  that  they  could 
with  difficulty  be  re-lighted. 

But  at  last  the  cabs  were  packed  with  luggage,  and  into  one 
got  Gertrude  with  her  husband,  her  baby,  and  her  mother ;  and 
into  the  other  Charley  handed  Linda,  then  Alley,  and  lastly  the 


470  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

youtlifiil  maiden,  who  linmbly  begged  his  pardon  as  she  stepped 
up  to  the  vehicle ;  and  then,  having  given  due  directions  to  the 
driver,  he  not  without  difficulty  squeezed  himself  into  the 
remaining  space. 

Such  journeys  as  these  are  always  made  at  a  slow  pace. 
Cabmen  know  very  well  who  must  go  fast,  and  who  may  go 
slow.  Women  with  children  going  on  board  an  emigrant  vessel 
at  six  o'clock  on  a  February  morning  may  be  taken  very  slowly. 
And  very  slowly  Gertrude  and  her  party  were  taken.  Time  had 
been — nay,  it  was  but  the  other  day — when  Alaric's  impatient 
soul  would  have  spurned  at  such  a  pace  as  this.  But  now  he 
sat  tranquil  enough.  His  wife  held  one  of  his  hands,  and  the 
other  he  pressed  against  his  eyes,  as  though  shading  them  from 
the  light.  Light  there  was  none,  but  he  had  not  yet  learnt  to 
face  Mrs.  Woodward  even  in  the  darkness. 

He  had  come  out  of  the  prison  on  the  day  before,  and  had 
spent  an  evening  with  her.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  no  one 
had  upbraided  him,  that  no  one  had  hinted  that  his  backslidings 
had  caused  all  this  present  misery,  had  brought  them  all  to  that 
wretched  cabin,  and  would  on  the  morrow  separate,  perhaps  for 
ever,  a  mother  and  a  child  who  loved  each  other  so  dearly.  No 
one  spoke  to  him  of  this ;  perhaps  no  one  thought  of  it ;  he, 
however,  did  so  think  of  it  that  he  could  not  hold  his  head  up 
before  them. 

"  He  was  ill,"  Gertrude  said ;  "  his  long  confinement  had 
prostrated  him ;  but  the  sea  air  would  revive  him  in  a  day  or 
two."  And  then  she  made  herself  busy,  and  got  the  tea  for 
them,  and  strove,  not  wholly  in  vain,  "  to  drive  dull  care 
away !" 

But  slowly  as  the  cabs  went  in  spite  of  Charley's  vocal  exe- 
crations, they  did  get  to  the  docks  in  time.  Who,  indeed,  was 
ever  too  late  at  the  docks  ?  Who,  that  ever  went  there,  had 
not  to  linger,  linger,  linger,  till  every  shred  of  patience  was 
clean  worn  out?  They  got  to  the  docks  in  time,  and  got  on 
board  that  fast-sailing,  clipper-built,  never-beaten  always- 
healthy  ship,  the  Flash  of  Lightning,  5,500  tons,  A  1.  Why, 
we  have  often  wondered,  are  ships  designated  as  A  1,  seeing 
that  all  ships  are  of  that  class  ?  Where  is  the  excellence, 
seeing  that  all  share  it  ?  Of  course,  the  Flash  of  Lightning 
was  A  1.  The  author  has  been  for  years  looking  out,  and  has 
not  yet  found  a  ship  advertised  as  A  2,  or  even  as  B  1.  What 
is  this  catalogue  of  comparative  excellence,  of  which  there  is 
but  one  visible  number  ? 


THE   CRIMINAL   POPULATION    IS    DISPOSED    OF.  4*71 

Tlie  world,  we  think,  makes  a  great  mistake  on  the  subject 
of  saying,  or  acting,  farewell.  The  word  or  deed  should  partake 
of  the  suddenness  of  electricity ;  but  we  all  drawl  through  it  at 
a  snail's  pace.  We  are  supposed  to  tear  ourselves  from  our 
friends  ;  but  tearing  is  a  process  which  should  be  done  quickly. 
What  is  so  wretched  as  lingering  over  a  last  kiss,  giving  the 
hand  for  the  third  time,  saying  over  and  over  again,  "  Good- 
bye, John,  God.  bless  you ;  and  mind  you  write  !"  Who  has 
not  seen  his  dearest  friends  standing  round  the  window  of  a 
railway  carriage,  while  the  train  would  not  start,  and  has  not 
longed  to  say  to  them,  "  Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your 
going,  but  go  at  once  !"  ^  And  of  all  such  farewells,  the  ship's 
farewell  is  the  longest  and  the  most  dreary.  One  sits  on  a 
damp  bench,  snuffing  up  the  odor  of  oil  and  ropes,  cudgelling 
one's  brains  to  think  what  further  word  of  increased  tenderness 
can  be  spoken.  No  tenderer  word  can  be  spoken.  One  returns 
again  and  again  to  the  weather,  to  coats  and  cloaks,  perhaps 
even  to  sandwiches  and  the  sherry  flask.  All  effect  is  thus 
destroyed,  and  a  trespass  is  made  even  on  the  domain  of  feeling 

I  remember  a  line  of  poetry,  learnt  in  my  earliest  youth,  and 
which  I  believe  to  have  emanated  from  a  sentimental  French- 
man, a  man  of  genius,  with  whom  my  parents  were  acquainted. 
It  is  as  follows  : — 

"Are  you  go — Is  you  gone  ? — And  I  left — Vera  veil  I" 

Now  the  whole  business  of  a  farewell  is  contained  in  that 
line.  When  the  moment  comes,  let  that  be  said ;  let  that  be 
said  and  felt,  and  then  let  the  dear  ones  part. 

Mrs.  Woodward  and  Gertrude — God  bless  them  ! — had  never 
studied  the  subject.  They  knew  no  better  than  to  sit  in  the 
nasty  cabin,  surrounded  by  boxes,  stewards,  porters,  children, 
and  abominations  of  every  kind,  holding  each  other's  hands, 
and  pressing  damp  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes.  The  delay,  the 
lingering,  upset  even  Gertrude,  and  brought  her  for  a  moment 
down  to  the  usual  level  of  leave-taking  womanhood.  Alaric, 
the  meanwhile,  stood  leaning  over  the  taffrail  with  Charley,  as 
mute  as  the  fishes  beneath  him. 

"Write  to  us  the  moment  you  get  there,"  said  Charley. 
How  often  had  the  injunction  been  given  !  "  And  now  we  had 
better  get  off — you'll  be  better  when  we  are  gone,  Alaric,"— 
Charley  had  some  sense  of  the  truth  about  him — "and,  Alaric, 
take  my  word  for  it,  I'll  come  and  set  the  Melbourne  Weights 


472  THE   THEEE    CLEBKS. 

and  Measures  to  rights  before  long — I'll  come  and  weigh  your 
gold  for  yon." 

"  AVe  had  better  be  going  now,"  said  Charley,  looking  down 
into  the  cabin  ;  "  they  may  let  loose  and  be  off  any  moment 
now." 

"  Oh,  Charley,  not  yet,  not  yet,"  said  Linda,  clinging  to  her 
sister. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  down  to  the  Nore,  if  you  stay ;  that's 
all,"  said  Charley. 

And  then  again  began  the  kissing  and  the  crying.  Yes,  ye 
dear  ones — it  is  hard  to  part — it  is  hard  for  the  mother  to  see 
the  child  of  her  bosom  torn  from  her 'for  ever  ;  it  is  cruel  that 
sisters  should  be  severed ;  it  is  a  harsh  sentence  for  the  world 
to  give,  that  of  such  a  separation  as  this.  These,  O  ye  loving- 
hearts,  are  the  penalties  of  love  !  Those  that  are  content  to 
love  must  always  be  content  to  pay  them. 

"  Go,  mamma,  go,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  dearest,  best,  sweetest 
mother — my  own,  own  mother ;  go,  Linda,  darling  Linda.  Give 
my  kindest  love  to  Harry — Charley,  you  and  Harry  will  be  good 
to  mamma,  I  know  you  will.  And  mamma" — and  then  she 
whispered  to  her  mother  one  last  prayer  in  Charley's  favor — 
"  she  may  love  him  now,  indeed  she  may." 

Alaric  came  to  them  at  the  last  moment — "  Mrs.  Woodward," 
said  he,  "  say  that  you  forgive  me." 

"  I  do,"  said  she,  embracing  him — "  God  knows  that  I  do ; — 
but,  Alaric,  remember  what  a  treasure  you  possess." 

And  so  they  parted.     May  God  speed  the  wanderers ! 


CHAPTER  XLY. 

THE    FATE    OF   THE    NAVVIES. 


^ND  now,  having  dispatched  Alaric  and  his  wife  and  bairns 
on  their  long  journey,  we  must  go  back  for  a  while  and  tell  how 
Charley  had  been  transformed  from  an  impudent,  idle,  young- 
Navvy  into  a  well-conducted,  zealous  young  Weights. 

When  Alaric  was  convicted,  Charley  had,  as  we  all  know, 
belonged  to  the  Internal  Navigation ;  when  the  six  months' 
sentence  had  expired,  Charley  was  in  full  blow^  at  the  decorous 
office  in  Whitehall ;  and  during  the  same  period  Norman  had 
resigned  and  taken  on  himself  the  new  duties  of  a  country 
squire.  The  change  which  had  been  made  had  affected  others 
than  Charley.     It  had  been  produced  by  one  of   those   far- 


THE   FATE    OF   THE   NAVVIES.  4*73 

stretching,  world-moving  commotions  which  now  and  then 
occur,  sometimes  twice  or  thrice  in  a  generation,  and,  perhaps, 
not  again  for  half  a  century,  causing  timid  men  to  whisper  in 
corners,  and  the  brave  and  high-spirited  to  struggle  with  the 
struggling  waves,  so  that  when  the  storm  subsides  they  may  be 
found  floating  on  the  surface.  A  moral  earthquake  had  been 
endured  by  a  portion  of  the  Civil  Service  of  the  country. 

The    Internal    Navigation    had .      No,    my    prognostic 

reader,  it  had  not  been  reformed  ;  no  new  blood  had  been  infused 
into  it ;  no  attempt  had  been  made  to  produce  a  better  discipline 
by  the  appointment  of  a  younger  secretary  ;  there  had  been  no 
carting  away  of  decayed  wood  in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Snape,  or 
gathering  of  rank  weeds,  in  the  form  of  Mr,  Corkscrew ; 
nothing  of  the  kind  had  been  attempted.  No — the  disease  had 
gone  too  far  either  for  phlebotomy,  purging,  or  cautery.  The 
Internal  Navigation  had  ceased  to  exist !  Its  demise  had  been 
in  this  wise. — It  may  be  remembered  that  some  time  since  Mr. 
Oldeschole  had  mentioned  in  the  hearing  of  Mr.  Snape  that 
things  were  going  wrong.  Sir  Gregory  Hardlines  had  expressed 
an  adverse  opinion  as  to  the  Internal  Navigation,  and  worse,  ten 
times  worse  than  that,  there  had  been  an  article  in  the  "  Times." 
Now,  we  all  know  that  if  anything  is  ever  done  in  any  way 
towards  improvement  in  these  days,  the  public  press  does  it. 
And  we  all  know,  also,  of  what  the  public  press  consists.  Mr. 
Oldeschole  knew  this  well,  and  even  Mr.  Snape  had  a  glimmer- 
ing idea  of  the  truth.  When  he  read  that  article,  Mr.  Olde- 
schole felt  that  his  days  were  numbered,  and  Mr.  Snape,  when 
he  heard  of  it,  began  to  calculate  for  th^  hundredth  time  to 
what  highest  amount  of  pension  he  might  be  adjudged  to  be 
entitled  by  a  liberal-minded  Treasury  minute. 

Mr.  Oldeschole  began  to  set  his  house  in  order,  hopelessly ; 
for  any  such  effort  the  time  was  gone  by.  It  was  too  late  for 
the  office  to  be  so  done  by,  and  too  late  for  Mr.  Oldeschole 
to  do  it.  He  had  no  aptitude  for  new  styles  and  modern 
improvements  ;  he  could  not  understand  Sir  Gregory's  code  of 
rules,  and  was  dumbfounded  by  the  Civil-Service  requisitions 
that  were  made  upon  him  from  time  to  time.  Then  came  fre- 
quent calls  for  him  to  attend  at  Sir  Gregory's  office.  There  a 
new  broom  had  been  brought  in,  in  the  place  of  our  poor  fi-iend 
Alaric,  a  broom  which  seemed  determined  to  sweep  all  before  it 
with  an  unmitigable  energy.  Mr.  Oldeschole  found  that  he 
could  not  stand  at  all  before  this  young  Hercules,  seeing  that  his 
special  stall  was  considered  to  be  the  foulest  in  the  whole  range 


474  THE   THKEE    CLERKS. 

of  the  Augean  stables.  He  soon  saw  that  the  river  was  to  be 
turned  in  on  him,  and  that  he  was  to  be  officially  obliterated  in 
the  flood. 

The  civility  of  those  wonder-doing  demigods — those  Magi  of 
the  Civil  Service  office — was  most  oppressive  to  him.  When 
he  got  to  the  Board,  he  was  always  treated  with  a  deference 
which  he  knew  was  but  a  prelude  to  barbaric  tortures.  They 
would  ask  him  to  sit  down  in  a  beautiful  new  leathern  arm- 
chair, as  though  he  were  really  some  great  man,  and  then 
examine  him  as  they  would  a  candidate  for  the  Custom  House, 
smiling  always,  but  looking  at  him  as  though  they  were  deter- 
mined to  see  through  him. 

They  asked  him  all  manner  of  questions ;  but  there  was  one 

question  which  they  put  to  him,  day  after  day,  for  four  days, 

that  nearly  drove  him  mad.     It  was  always  put  by  that  horrid 

young  lynx-eyed  new  commissioner,  who  sat  there  with  his  hair 

brushed  high  from  off  his  forehead,  peering  out  of  his  capacious, 

excellently-washed  shirt-collars,  a  personification  of  conscious 

official  zeal. 

;       "And  now,  Mr.  Oldeschole,  if  you  have  had  leisure  to  con- 

l  sider  the  question  more  fully,  perhaps  you  can  define  to  us 

-  what  is  the — hum — hm — the  use — hm — hm — the  exact  use  of 

the  Internal  Navigation  Office  ?" 

And  then  Sir  Warwick  would  go  on  looking  through  his 
naillstone  as  though  now  he  really  had  a  hope  of  seeing  some- 
thing, and  Sir  Gregory  would  lean  back  in  his  chair,  and 
rubbing  his  hands  slowly  over  each  other,  like  a  great  Akinetos 
as  he  was,  wait  leisurely  for  Mr.  Oldeschole's  answer,  or  rather 
for  his  no  answer. 

What  a  question  was  this  to  ask  of  a  man  who  had  spent  all 
his  life  in  the  Internal  Navigation  Office!  0  reader!  should  it 
chance  that  thou  art  a  clergyman,  imagine  what  it  would  be  to 
thee,  wert  thou  asked  what  is  the  exact  use  of  the  Church  of 
England ;  and  that,  too,  by  some  stubborn  catechist  whom  thou 
wert  bound  to  answer  ;  or,  if  a  lady,  happy  in  a  husband  and 
family,  say,  what  would  be  thy  feelings  if  demanded  to  define 
the  exact  use  of  matrimony  ?    Use  !    Is  it  not  all  in  all  to  thee  ? 

Mr.  Oldeschole  felt  a  hearty  inward  conviction  that  his 
office  had  been  of  very  great  use.  In  the  first  place,  had  he 
not  drawn  from  it  a  thousand  a-year  for  the  last  five-and- 
twenty  years  ?  had  it  not  given  maintenance  and  employment 
to  many  worthy  men  who  might  perhaps  have  found  it  difficult 
to  obtain  maintenance  elsewhere  ?  had  it  not  always  been  an 


THE   FATE    OF   THE    NAVYIES.  475 

office,  a  public  office  of  note  and  reputation,  with  proper  work 
assigned  to  it  ?  The  use  of  it — the  exact  use  of  it  ?  Mr. 
Oldeschole  at  last  declared,  with  some  indignation  in  his  tone, 
that  he  had  been  there  for  forty  years  and  knew  well  that  the 
office  was  very  useful ;  but  that  he  would  not  undertake  to 
define  its  exact  use.  "Thank  you,  thank  you,  Mr.  Oldeschole 
— that  will  do,  I  think,"  said  the  very  spruce-looking  new 
gentleman  out  of  his  shirt-collars. 

In  these  days  there  was  a  kind  of  prescience  at  the  Internal 
Navigation  that  something  special  was  going  to  be  done  with 
them.  Mr.  Oldeschole  said  nothing  openly  ;  but  it  may  be 
presumed  that  he  did  whisper  somewhat  to  those  of  the  seniors 
around  him  in  whom  he  most  confided.  And  then,  his  frequent 
visits  to  Whitehall  were  spoken  of  even  by  the  most  thoughtless, 
of  the  navvies,  and  the  threatenings  of  the  coming  storm 
revealed  themselves  with  more  or  less  distinctness  to  every 
mind. 

At  last  the  thunder-cloud  broke  and  the  bolt  fell.  Mr. 
Oldeschole  was  informed  that  the  Lords  of  the  Treasury  had 
resolved  on  breaking  up  the  establishment  and  providing  for 
the  duties  in  another  way.  As  the  word  duties  passed  Sir 
Gregory's  lips  a  slight  smile  was  seen  to  hover  round  the  mouth 
of  the  new  commissioner.  Mr.  Oldeschole  would,  he  was 
informed,  receive  an  official  notification  to  this  eff"ect  on  the 
following  morning ;  and  on  the  following  morning  accordingly 
a  dispatch  arrived  of  great  length,  containing  the  resolution  of 
my  Lords,  and  putting  an  absolute  extinguisher  on  the  life  of 
every  navvy. 

How  Mr.  Oldeschole,  with  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks, 
communicated  the  tidings  to  the  elder  brethren  ;  and  how  the 
elder  brethren,  with  palpitating  hearts  and  quivering  voices, 
repeated  the  tale  to  the  listening  juniors,  I  cannot  now  describe. 
The  boldest  spirits  were  then  cowed,  the  loudest  miscreants 
were  then  silenced,  there  were  but  few  gibes,  but  little  jeering 
at  the  Internal  Navigation  on  that  day  ;  though  Charley,  who 
had  already  other  hopes,  contrived  to  keep  up  his  spirit.  The 
men  stood  about  talking  in  clusters,  and  old  animosities  were  at 
an  end.  The  lamb  sat  down  with  the  wolf,  and  Mr.  Snape  and 
Dick  Scatterall  became  quite  confidential. 

"  I  knew  it  was  going  to  happen,"  said  Mr.  Snape  to  him. 
"  Indeed,  Mr.  Oldeschole  has  been  consulting  us  about  it  for 
some  time ;  but  I  must  own  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  so 
sudden  ;  I  must  own  that." 


476  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

"  If  you  knew  it  was  coming,"  said  Corkscrew,  "  why  didn't 
you  tell  a  chap  ?" 
.     "  I  was  not  at  liberty,"  said  Mr.  Snape,  looking  very  wise. 

"  We  shall  all  have  liberty  enough  now,"  said  Scatterall ;  "  I 
wonder  what  they'll  do  with  us ;  eh,  Charley  ?" 

"  I  believe  they  will  send  the  worst  of  us  to  Spike  Island  or 
Dartmoor  prison,"  said  Charley  ;  "  but  Mr.  Snape,  no  doubt,  has 
heard  and  can  tell  us." 

"  Oh,  come,  Charley  !  It  don't  do  to  chaff  now,"  said  a  young 
navvy,  who  was  especially  down  in  the  mouth.  "  I  wonder  will 
they  do  anything  for  a  fellow  ?" 

"I  heard  my  uncle,  in  Parliament  Street,  say,  that  when  a  chap 
has  got  any  infested  interest  in  a  thing,  they  can't  turn  him  out," 
said  Corkscrew ;  "  and  my  uncle  is  a  parliamentary  agent." 

"  Can't  they  though  !"  said  Scatterall.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
they  mean  to,  at  any  rate ;  there  wasn't  a  word  about  pensions 
or  anything  of  that  sort,  was  there,  Mr.  Snape  ?" 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  Snape.  "  But  those  who  are  entitled  to 
pensions  can't  be  aflfected  injuriously.  As  far  as  I  can  see  they 
must  give  me  my  whole  salary.     I  don't  think  they  can  do  less." 

"  You're  all  serene  then,  Mr.  Snape,"  said  Charley  ;  "  you're 
in  the  right  box.  Looking  at  matters  in  that  light,  Mr.  Snape, 
I  think  you  ought  to  stand  something  handsome  in  the  shape  of 
lunch.  Come,  what  do  you  say  to  chops  and  stout  all  round  ? 
Dick  will  go  over  and  order  it  in  a  minute." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Charley,"  said  the  navvy  who  seemed 
to  be  most  affected,  and  who,  in  his  present  humor,  could  not 
endure  a  joke.  As  Mr.  Snape  did  not  seem  to  accede  to  Charley's 
views,  the  liberal  proposition  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Care  killed  a  cat,"  said  Scatterall.  "  I  shan't  break  my 
heart  about  it.     I  never  liked  the  shop — did  you,  Charley  ?" 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  think  we  have  been  very  comfortable 
here,  under  Mr.  Snape,"  said  Charley.  "  But  if  Mr.  Snape  is  to 
go,  why  the  office  certainly  would  be  deuced  dull  without  him." 

"  Charley  !"  said  the  broken-hearted  young  navvy,  in  a  tone 
of  reproach. 

Sorrow,  however,  did  not  take  away  their  appetite,  and  as 
Mr.  Snape  did  not  see  fitting  occasion  for  providing  a  banquet, 
they  clubbed  together,  and  among  them  managed  to  get  a 
spread  of  beef-steaks  and  porter.  Scatterall,  as  requested,  went 
across  the  Strand  to  order  it  at  the  cook-shop,  while  Corkscrew 
and  Charley  prepared  the  tables.  "  And  now  mind  it's  the 
thing,"  said  Dick,  who,  with  intimate  familiarity,  had  penetrated 


THE   FATE  OF  THE  NAVVIES.  477 

into  the  eating-house  kitchen  ;  "  not  dry,  you  know,  or  too  much 
clone  ;  and  lots  of  fat." 

And  then,  as  the  generous  viands  renewed  their  strength,  and 
as  the  potent  stout  warmed  their  blood,  happier  ideas  came  to 
them,  and  they  began  to  hope  that  the  world  was  not  all  over. 
"  Well,  I  shall  try  for  the  Customs,"  said  the  unhappy  one,  after 
a  deep  pull  at  the  pewter.  "  I  shall  try  for  the  Customs  ;  one 
does  get  such  stunning  feeds  for  tenpence  at  that  place  in 
Thames  Street."  Poor  youth!  his  ideas  of  earning  his  bread 
did  not  in  their  wildest  flight  spread  beyond  the  public  offices 
of  the  Civil  Service. 

For  a  few  days  longer  they  hung  about  the  old  office,  doing 
nothing — how  could  men  so  circumstanced  do  anything  ? — and 
waiting  for  their  fate.  At  last  their  fate  was  announced.  Mr. 
Oldeschole  retired  with  his  full  salary.  Secretaries  and  such- 
like always  retire  with  full  pay,  as  it  is  necessary  that  dignity 
should  be  supported.  Mr.  Snape  and  the  other  seniors  were 
pensioned,  with  a  careful  respect  to  their  years  of  service  ;  with 
which  arrangement  they  all  of  them  expressed  themselves  highly 
indignant,  and  loudly  threatened  to  bring  the  cruelty  of  their 
treatment  before  Parliament,  by  the  aid  of  sundry  members,  who 
were  supposed  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  such  work ;  but,  as 
nothing  further  was  ever  heard  of  them,  it  may  be  presumed  that 
the  members  in  question  did  not  regard  the  case  as  one  on 
which  the  Government  of  the  day  was  suflSciently  vulnerable  to 
make  it  worth  their  while  to  trouble  themselves.  Of  the  younger 
clerks,  two  or  three,  including  the  unhappy  one,  were  drafted 
into  other  offices ;  some  others  received  one  or  more  years'  pay, 
and  then  tore  themselves  away  from  the  fascinations  of  London 
life  ;  among  those  was  Mr.  R.  Scatterall,  who,  in  after  years, 
will  doubtless  become  a  lawgiver  in  Hong-Kong ;  for  to  that 
colony  has  he  betaken  himself.  Some  few  others,  more  unfortu- 
nate than  the  rest,  among  whom  poor  Screwy  was  the  most 
conspicuous,  were  treated  with  a  more  absolute  rigor,  and 
were  sent  upon  the  world  portionless.  Screwy  had  been  constant 
in  his  devotion  to  pork  chops,  and  had  persisted  in  spelling  blue 
without  the  final  e.  He  was,  therefore,  declared  unworthy  of 
any  further  public  confidence  whatever.  He  is  now  in  his 
uncle's  office  in  Parliament  Street ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
his  peculiar  talents  may  there  be  found  useful. 

And  so  the  Internal  Navigation  Office  came  to  an  end,  and 
the  dull,  dingy  rooms  were  vacant.  Ruthless  men  shoveUed  oflf 
as  waste  paper  all  the  lock  entries  of  which  Charley  had  once 


478  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

been  s.o  proud  ;  anc  tlae  ponderous  ledgei-s  which  Mr.  Snape  had 
delighted  to  haul  about,  were  sent  away  into  Cimmerian  dark- 
ness, and  probably  to  utter  destruction.  And  then  the  Internal 
Navigation  was  no  more. 

Among  those  who  were  drafted  into  other  offices  was  Charley, 
whom  propitious  fate  took  to  the  Weights  and  Measures.  But 
it  must  not  be  imagined  that  chance  took  him  there.  The 
Weights  and  Measures  was  an  Elysium,  the  door  of  which  was 
never  casually  open. 

Charley  at  this  time  was  a  much  altered  man  ;  not  that  he 
had  become  a  good  clerk  at  his  old  office — such  a  change  one  may 
say  was  impossible  ;  there  were  no  good  clerks  at  the  Internal 
Navigation,  and  Charley  had  so  long  been  among  navvies  the 
most  knavish  or  navviest,  that  any  such  transformation  would 
have  met  with  no  credence^but  out  of  his  office  he  had  become 
a  much  altered  man.  As  Katie  had  said,  it  was  as  though  some 
one  had  come  to  him  from  the  dead.  He  could  not  go  back  to 
his  old  haunts,  he  could  not  return  like  a  dog  to  his  vomit,  as 
long  as  he  had  that  purse  so  near  his  heart,  as  long  as  that  voice 
sounded  in  his  ear,  while  the  memory  of  that  kiss  lingered  in 
his  heart. 

He  now  told  everything  to  Gertrude,  all  his  debts,  all  his  love, 
and  all  his  despair.  There  is  no  relief  for  sorrow  like  the  sympa- 
thy of  a  friend,  if  one  can  only  find  it.  But  then  the  sympathy 
must  be  real ;  mock  sympathy  always  tells  the  truth  against 
itself,  always  fails  to  deceive.  He  told  everything  to  Gertrude, 
and  by  her  counsel  he  told  much  to  Norman.  He  could  not 
speak  to  him,  true  friend  as  he  was,  of  Katie  and  her  love. 
There  was  that  about  the  subject  which  made  it  too  sacred  for 
man's  ears,  too  full  of  tenderness  to  be  spoken  of  without  femi- 
nine tears.  It  was  only  in  the  little  parlor  at  Paradise  Row, 
when  the  evening  had  grown  dark,  and  Gertrude  was  sitting  with 
her  baby  in  her  arms,  that  the  boisterous  young  navvy  could 
bring  himself  to  speak  of  his  love. 

During  these  months,  Katie's  health  had  greatly  improved, 
and  as  she  herself  had  gained  in  strength,  she  had  gradually 
begun  to  think  that  it  was  yet  possible  for  her  to  live.  Little 
was  now  said  by  her  about  Charley,  and  not  much  was  said  of 
him  in  her  hearing ;  but  still  she  did  learn  how  he  had  changed 
his  office,  and  with  his  office  his  mode  of  life ;  she  did  hear 
of  his  literary  eftbrts,  and  of  his  kindness  to  Gertrude,  and  it 
would  seem  as  though  it  were  ordained  that  his  moral  life  and 
her  physical  life  were  to  gain  strength  together. 


ME.    NOGO'S   LAST   QUESTION.  479 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

MR.    NOGO'S    LAST    QUESTION. 


But  at  this  time  Charley  was  not  idle.  The  fate  of  "  Crino- 
line and  Macassar"  has  not  yet  been  told ;  nor  has  that  of  the 
two  rival  chieftains,  the  "Baron  of  Ballyporeen  and  Sir  Anthony 
Allan-a-dale."  These  heart-rending  tales  appeared  in  due  course, 
bit  by  bit, in  the  pages  of  the  "Daily  Delight."  On  every  morn- 
ing of  the  week,  Sundays  excepted,  a  page  and  a  half  of  Char- 
ley's narrative  was  given  to  the  expectant  public ;  and  though  I 
am  not  prepared  to  say  that  the  public  received  the  offering 
with  any  violent  acclamations  of  applause,  that  his  name  became 
suddenly  that  of  a  great  unknown,  that  literary  cliques  talked 
about  him  to  the  exclusion  of  other  topics,  or  that  he  rose  famous 
one  morning,  as  Byron  did  after  the  publication  of  the  Corsair, 
nevertheless  something  was  said  in  his  praise.  The  "Daily 
Delight,"  on  the  whole,  w^as  rather  belittled  by  its  grander  breth- 
ren of  the  press ;  but  a  w^ord  or  two  was  said  here  and  there  to 
exempt  Charley's  fictions  from  the  general  pooh-poohing  with 
which  the  remainder  of  the  publication  w^as  treated. 

Success,  such  as  this  even,  is  dear  to  the  mind  of  a  young 
author,  and  Charley  began  to  feel  that  he  had  done  something. 
The  editor  was  proportionably  civil  to  him,  and  he  was 
encouraged  to  commence  a  third  historiette. 

"  We  have  polished  ofi"  poison  and  petticoats  pretty  well," 
said  the  editor  ;  "  what  do  you  say  to  something  political  ?" 

Charley  had  no  objection  in  life. 

"This  divorce  bill,  now — we  could  have  half  a  dozen  married 
couples  all  separating,  getting  rid  of  their  ribs  and  buckling 
again,  helter-skelter,  every  man  to  somebody  else's  wife ;  and 
the  parish  parson  refusing  to  do  the  work ;  just  to  show  the 
immorality  of  the  thing." 

Charley  said  he'd  think  about  it.  'X^ 

"Or  the  Danubian  Principalities  and  the  French  Alliance 
— could  you  manage  now  to  lay  your  scene  in  Constanti- 
nople ?" 

Charley  doubted  whether  he  could.  ^ 

"Or  perhaps  India  is  the  thing?  The  Cawnpore  massacre ^ 
would  work  up  into  any  lengths  you  pleased.  You  could  get  a 
file  of  the  '  Times,'  you  know,  for  your  facts." 


480  THE   THEEE    CLEEKS. 

But  while  tlie  editor  was  giving  these  various  valuable  hints 
as  to  the  author's  future  subjects,  the  author  himself,  with  base 
mind,  was  thinking  how  much  he  should  be  paid  for  his  past 
labors.  At  last  he  ventured,  in  the  mildest  manner,  to  allude 
to  the  subject. 

"  Payment !"  said  the  editor. 

Charley  said  that  he  had  understood  that  there  was  to  be 
some  fixed  scale  of  pay  ;  so  much  per  sheet,  or  something  of 
that  sort. 

"  Undoubtedly  there  will,"  said  the  editor  ;  "  and  those  who 
will  have  the  courage  and  perseverance  to  work  through  with 
us,  till  the  publication  has  obtained  that  wide  popularity  which 
it  is  sure  to  achieve,  will  doubtless  be  paid, — be  paid  as  no 
writers  for  any  periodical  in  this  metropolis  have  ever  yet  been 
paid.  But  at  present,  Mr.  Tudor,  you  really  must  be  aware 
that  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question." 

Charley  had  not  the  coura2:e  and  perseverance  to  work 
through  with  the  "  Daily  Delight "  till  it  had  achieved  its 
promised  popularity,  and  consequently  left  its  ranks  like  a 
dastard.  He  consulted  both  Gertrude  and  Norman  on  the 
subject,  and  on  their  -advice  set  himself  to  work  on  his  own 
bottom.  "  You  may  perhaps  manage  to  fly  alone,"  said  Ger- 
trude ;  "  but  you  will  find  it  very  difficult  to  fly  if  you  tie  the 
whole  weight  of  the  '  Daily  Delight '  under  your  wings."  So 
Charley  prepared  himself  for  solitary  soaring. 

While  he  was  thus  working,  the  time  arrived  at  which  Nor- 
man was  to  leave  his  office,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  it 
might  be  possible  that  he  should  bequeath  his  vacancy  to 
Charley.  He  went  himself  to  Sir  Gregory,  and  explained,  not 
only  his  own  circumstances,  and  his  former  friendship  with 
Alaric  Tudor,  but  also  the  relationship  between  Alaric  and 
Charley.  He  then  learnt,  in  the  strictest  confidence  of  course, 
that  the  doom  of  the  Internal  Navigation  had  just  been  settled, 
and  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  place  in  other  offices  those 
young  men  who  could  in  any  way  be  regarded  as  worth  their 
salt,  and,  after  considerable  manoeuvring,  had  it  so  arranged 
that  the  ne'er-do-well  young  navvy  should  recommence  his 
official  life  under  better  auspices. 

Nor  did  Charley  come  in  at  the  bottom  of  his  office,  but 
was  allowed,  by  some  inscrutable  order  of  the  great  men  who 
arranged  those  things,  to  take  a  position  in  the  Weights  and 
Measures  equal  in  seniority  and  standing  to  that  which  he  had 
held  at  the  Navigation,  and  much  higher,  of  course,  in  pay. 


MR.    NOGO'S   LAST   QUESTION.  481 

There  is  an  old  saying,  which  the  unenlightened  credit,  and 
which  declares  that  that  which  is  sauce  for  the  goose  is  sauce 
also  for  the  gander.  Nothing  put  into  a  proverb  since  the  days 
of  Solomon  was  ever  more  untrue.  That  which  is  sauce  for 
the  goose  is  not  sauce  for  the  gander,  and  especially  is  not  so  in 
oflBcial  life.  Poor  Screwy  was  the  goose,  and  certainly  got  the 
sauce  best  suited  to  him  when  he  was  turned  adrift  out  of  the 
Civil  Service.  Charley  was  the  gander,  and  fond  as  I  am  of 
him  for  his  many  excellent  qualities,  I  am  fain  to  own  that 
justice  might  fairly  have  demanded  that  he  should  be  cooked 
after  the  same  receipt.  But  it  suited  certain  potent  personages 
to  make  a  swan  of  him ;  and  therefore,  though  it  had  long 
been  an  assured  fact  through  the  whole  service,  that  no  man 
was  ever  known  to  enter  the  Weights  and  Measures  without 
the  strictest  examination,  though  the  character  of  aspirants  for 
that  high  office  was  always  subjected  to  a  rigid  scrutiny,  though 
knowledge,  accomplishments,  industry,  morality,  outward  de- 
cency, inward  zeal,  and  all  the  cardinal  virtues  were  absolutely 
requisite,  still  Charley  was  admitted,  without  any  examination 
or  scrutiny  whatever,  during  the  commotion  consequent  upon 
the  earthquake  above  described. 

Charley  went  to  the  Weights  some  time  during  the  recess. 
In  the  process  of  the  next  session  Mr.  Nogo  gave  notice  that  he 
meant  to  ask  the  Government  a  question  as  to  a  gross. act  of  in- 
justice which  had  been  perpetrated — so  at  least  the  matter  had 
been  represented  to  him — on  the  suppression  of  the  Internal 
Navigation  Office. 

Mr.  Nogo  did  not  at  first  find  it  very  easy  to  get  a  fitting 
opportunity  for  asking  his  question.  He  had  to  give  notice, 
and  inquiries  had  to  be  made,  and  the  responsible  people  were 
away,  and  various  customary  accidents  happened,  so  that  it  was 
late  in  June  before  the  question  was  put.  Mr.  Nogo,  however, 
persevered  ruthlessly,  and  after  six  months'  labor,  did  deliver 
himself  of  an  indignant,  and,  as  his  friends  declared  to  him,  a 
very  telling  speech. 

It  was  reported  at  the  time  by  the  opposition  newspapers, 
and  need  not  therefore  be  given  here.  But  the  upshot  was 
this :  two  men  bearing  equal  character — Mr.  Nogo  would  not 
say  whether  the  characters  of  the  gentlemen  were  good  or  bad  ; 
he  would  only  say  equal  characters — sat  in  the  same  room  at 
this  now  defunct  office ;  one  was  Mr.  Corkscrew  and  the  other 
Mr.  Tudor.  One  had  no  friends  in  the  Civil  Service,  but  the 
other  was  more  fortunate.     Mr.  Corkscrew  had  been  sent  upon 

21 


482  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

the  world  a  ruined,  blighted  man,  without  any  compensation, 
without  any  regard  for  his  interests,  without  any  consideration 
for  his  past  services  or  future  prospects.  They  would  be  told 
that  the  Government  had  no  further  need  of  his  labors,  and 
that  they  could  not  dare  to  saddle  the  country  with  a  pension 
for  so  young  a  man.  But  what  had  been  done  in  the  case  of 
the  other  gentleman  ?  Why,  he  had  been  put  into  a  valuable 
situation,  in  the  best  Government  oflSce  in  London,  had  been 
placed  over  the  heads  of  a  dozen  others,  who  had  been  there 
before  him,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  And  then  Mr.  Nogo  Bnded  with  so 
vehement  an  attack  on  Sir  Gregory,  and  the  Government  as 
connected  with  him,  that  the  dogs  began  to  whet  their  teeth 
and  prepare  for  a  tug  at  the  great  badger. 

But  circumstances  were  mischancy  with  Mr.  Nogo,  and  all  he 
said  redounded  only  to  the  credit  of  our  friend  Charley.  His 
black  undoubtedly  was  black  ;  the  merits  of  Charley  and  Mr. 
Corkscrew,  as  public  servants,  had  been  about  equal ;  but  Mr. 
Whip  Vigil  turned  the  black  into  white  in  three  minutes. 

As  he  got  upon  his  legs,  smiling  after  the  manner  of  his  great 
exemplar,  he  held  in  his  hand  a  small  note  and  a  newspaper. 
"  A  comparison,"  he  said,  "  had  been  instituted  between  the 
merits  of  two  gentlemen  formerly  in  the  employment  of  the 
Crown,  one  of  whom  had  been  selected  for  further  employment, 
and  the  other  rejected.  The  honorable  member  for  Mile  End 
had,  he  regretted  to  say,  instituted  this  comparison.  They  all 
knew  what  was  the  proverbial  character  of  a  comparison.  It 
was,  however,  ready  made  to  his  hands,  and  there  was  nothing 
left  for  him,  Mr.  Whip  Vigil,  but  to  go  on  with  it.  This,  how- 
ever, he  would  do  in  as  light  a  manner  as  possible.  It  has  been 
thought  that  the  one  gentleman  would  not  suit  the  public  ser- 
vice, and  that  the  other  would  do  so.  It  was  for  him  merely  to 
defend  this  opinion.  He  now  held  in  his  hand  a  letter  written 
by  the  protege  of  the  honorable  member  for  Limehouse  ;  he 
would  not  read  it"  (cries  of  "  Read,  read !")  "  no,  he  would  not 
read  it,  but  the  honorable  member  might  if  he  would — and 
could.  He  himself  was  prepared  to  say  that  a  gentleman  who 
chose  to  express  himself  in  such  a  style  in  his  private  notes — 
this  note,  however,  was  not  private  in  the  usual  sense — could 
hardly  be  expected  to  command  a  proper  supply  of  wholesome 
English,  such  as  the  service  of  the  crown  demanded !"  Then 
Mr.  Vigil  handed  across  to  Mr.  Nogo  poor  Screwy's  unfortunate 
letter  about  the  pork  chops.  "As  to  the  other  gentleman, 
whose  name  was  now  respectably  known  in  the  lighter  walks  of 


ME.   NOGO'S   LAST   QUESTION.  483 

literature,  he  would,  if  permitted,  read  the  opinion  expressed  as 
to  his  si^^'\e  of  language  by  a  literary  publication  of  the  day ; 
and  then  the  House  would  see  whether  or  no  the  produce  of  the 
Civil  Service  field  had  not  been  properly  winnowed ;  whether 
the  wheat  had  not  been  garnered,  and  the  chaff  neglected." 
And  then  the  right  honorable  gentleman  read  some  half-dozen 
lines,  highly  eulogistic  of  Charley's  first  solitary  flight. 

Poor  Mr.  Nogo  remained  in  silence,  feeling  that  his  black 
had  become  white  to  all  intents  and  purposes;  and  the  big 
badger  sat  by  and  grinned,  not  deigning  to  notice  the  dogs 
around  him.  Thus  it  may  be  seen  that  that  which  is  sauce  for 
the  goose  is  not  sauce  for  the  gander. 

Early  in  the  spring  Norman  was  married ;  and  then,  as  had 
been  before  arranged,  Charley  once  more  went  to  Surbiton 
Cottage.  The  marriage  was  a  very  quiet  affair.  The  feeling 
of  disgrace  which  had  fallen  upon  them  all  since  the  days  of 
Alaric's  trial  had  by  no  means  worn  itself  away.  There  were 
none  of  them  yet — no,  not  one  of  the  Cottage  circle,  from  Uncle 
Bat  down  to  the  parlor-maid — who  felt  that  they  had  a  right 
to  hold  up  their  faces  before  the  light  of  day  as  they  had  for- 
merly done.  There  was  a  cloud  over  their  house,  visible  per- 
haps with  more  or  less  distinctness  to  all  eyes,  but  which  to 
themselves  appeared  black  as  night.  That  evil  which  Alaric 
had  done  to  them  was  not  to  be  undone  in  a  few  moons.  We 
are  all  of  us  responsible  for  our  friends,  fathers-in-law  for  their 
sons-in-law,  brothers  for  their  sisters,  husbands  for  their  wives, 
parents  for  their  children,  and  children  even  for  their  parents. 
We  cannot  wipe  off  from  us,  as  with  a  wet  cloth,  the  stains  left 
by  the  fault  of  those  who  are  near  to  us.  The  ink-spot  wijt 
cling.  Oh  !  Alaric,  Alaric,  that  thou,  thou  who  knewest  al' 
this,  that  thou  shouldest  have  done  this  thing !  They  had  for- 
given his  off"ence  against  them,  but  they  could  not  forget  their 
own  involuntary  participation  in  his  disgrace.  It  was  not  for 
them  now  to  shine  forth  to  the  world  with  fine  gala  doings,  and 
gay  gaudy  colors,  as  they  had  done  when  Gertrude  had  been 
married. 

But  still  there  was  happiness — quiet,  staid  happiness — at  the 
Cottage.  Mrs.  Woodward  could  not  but  be  happy  to  see  Linda 
married  to  Harry  Norman,  her  own  favorite,  him  whom  she 
had  selected  in  her  heart  for  her  son-in-law  from  out  of  all  the 
world.  And  now,  too,  she  was  beginning  to  be  conscious  that 
Harry  and  Linda  were  better  suited  for  each  other  than  he  and 
Gertrude  would  have  been.     What  would  have  been  Linda's 


484  THE  THKEE   CLERKS. 

fate,  how  unendurable,  had  she  been  Alaric's  wife,  when  Alario 
fell  ?  How  would  she  have  borne  such  a  fall  ?  what  could  she 
have  done,  poor  lamb,  towards  mending  the  broken  thread  or 
binding  the  bruised  limbs  ?  what  balm  could  she  have  poured 
into  such  wounds  as  those  which  fate  had  inflicted  on  Gertrude 
and  her  household  ?  But  at  Normansgrove,  with  a  steady  old 
housekeeper  at  her  back,  and  her  husband  always  by  to  give 
her  courage,  Linda  would  find  the  very  place  for  which  she  was 
suited. 

And  then  Mrs.  Woodward  had  another  source  of  joy,  of  live- 
liest joy,  in  Katie's  mending  looks.  She  was  at  the  wedding, 
though  hardly  with  her  mother's  approval.  As  she  got  better 
her  old  spirit  returned  to  her,  and  it  became  difficult  to  refuse 
her  anything.  It  was  in  vain  that  her  mother  talked  of  the 
cold  church,  and  easterly  winds,  and  the  necessary  lightness  of 
a  bridesmaid's  attire.  Katie  argued  that  the  church  was  only 
two  hundred  yards  off,  that  she  never  suffered  from  the  cold, 
and  that  though  dressed  in  light  colors,  as  became  a  bridesmaid, 
she  would,  if  allowed  to  go,  wear  over  her  white  frock  any 
amount  of  cloaks  which  her  mother  chose  to  impose  on  her. 
Of  course  she  went,  and  we  will  not  say  how  beautiful  she 
looked,  when  she  clung  to  Linda  in  the  vestry-room,  and  all 
her  mother's  wrappings  fell  in  disorder  from  her  shoulders. 

So  Linda  was  married  and  carried  off  to  Normansgrove,  and 
Katie  remained  with  her  mother  and  Uncle  Bat. 

"  Mamma,  we  will  never  part — will  we,  mamma  ?"  said  she, 
as  they  comforted  each  other  that  evening  after  the  Normans 
were  gone,  and  when  Charley  also  had  returned  to  London. 

"When  you  go,  Katie,  I  think  you  must  take  me  with  you," 
said  her  mother,  smiling  through  her  tears.  "  But  what  will 
poor  Uncle  Bat  do  ?     I  fear  you  can't  take  him  also." 

"  I  will  never  go  from  you,  mamma." 

Her  mother  knew  what  she  meant.  Charley  had  been  there, 
Charley  to  whom  she  had  declared  her  love  when  lying,  as  she 
thought,  on  her  bed  of  death — Charley  had  been  there  again, 
and  had  stood  close  to  her,  and  touched  her  hand,  and  looked 
— oh,  how  much  handsomer  he  was  than  Harry,  how  much 
brighter  than  Alaric! — he  had  touched  her  hand,  and  spoken 
to  her  one  word  of  joy  at  her  recovered  health.  But  that  had 
been  all.  There  was  a  sort  of  compact,  Katie  knew,  that  there 
should  be  no  other  Tudor  marriage.  Charley  was  not  now  the 
scamp  he  had  been,  but  still — it  was  understood  that  her  love 
was  not  to  win  its  object. 


CONCLUSION.  485 

"I  will  never  go  from  yon,  mamma." 

But  Mrs.  Woodward's  heart  was  not  hard  as  the  nether  mill- 
stone. She  drew  her  daughter  to  her,  and  as  she  pressed  her 
to  her  bosom,  she  whispered  into  her  ears  that  she  now  hoped 
they  might  all  be  happy. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

CONCLUSION. 


Our  tale  and  toils  have  now  drawn  nigh  to  an  end ;  our 
loves  and  our  sorrows  are  over ;  and  we  are  soon  to  part  com- 
pany with  the  three  clerks  and  their  three  wives.  Their  three 
wives  ?  Why,  yes.  It  need  hardly  be  told  in  so  many  words 
to  an  habitual  novel-reader  that  Charley  did  get  his  bride  at 
last. 

Nevertheless,  Katie  kept  her  promise  to  Mrs.  Woodward. 
W^hat  promise  did  she  ever  make  and  not  keep  ?  She  kept  her 
promise,  and  did  not  go  from  her  mother.  She  married  Mr. 
Charles  Tudor,  of  the  Weights  and  Measure,  that  distinguished 
master  of  modern  fiction,  as  the  "  Literary  Censor"  very  civilly 
called  him  the  other  day  ;  and  Mr.  Charles  Tudor  became  mas- 
ter of  Surbiton  Cottage. 

Reader !  take  one  last  leap  with  me,  and  presume  that  two 
years  have  flown  from  us  since  the  end  of  the  last  chapter;  or 
rather  somewhat  more  than  two  years,  for  we  would  have  it 
high  midsummer  when  we  take  our  last  farewell  of  Surbiton 
Cottage. 

But  sundry  changes  had  taken  place  at  the  Cottage,  and  of 
such  a  nature  that,  were  it  not  for  the  old  name's  sake,  we 
should  now  find  ourselves  bound  to  call  the  place  Surbiton  Villa, 
or  Surbiton  Hall,  or  Surbiton  House.  It  certainly  had  no 
longer  any  right  to  the  title  of  a  cottage  ;  for  Charley,  in  anti- 
cipation of  what  Lucina  might  do  for  him,  had  added  on  sun- 
dry rooms,  a  children's  room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  a  nursery 
above,  and  a  couple  of  additional  bedrooms  on  the  other  side, 
so  that  the  house  was  now  a  comfortable  abode  for  an  increas- 
ing family. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  are  now  speaking  Lucina  had  not 
as  yet  done  much  ;  for,  in  truth,  Charley  had  been  married  but 
little  over  twelve  months  ;  but  there  appeared  every  reason  to 
believe  that  the  goddess  would  be  propitious.  There  was  al- 
ready one  little  rocking  shrine,  up  in  that  cosy  temple  opening 


486  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

out  of  Katie's  bedroom — we  beg  her  pardon,  we  should  have 
said  Mrs.  Charles^udor's  bedroom — one  precious  tabernacle  in 
which  was  laid  a  little  man-deity,  a  young  Charley,  to  whom 
was  daily  paid  a  multitude  of  very  sincere  devotions. 

How  precious  are  all  the  belongings  of  a  first  baby ;  how 
dear  are  the  cradle,  the  lace-caps,  the  first  coral,  all  the  little 
duds  which  are  made  with  such  punctilious  care  and  anxious 
efforts  of  nicest  needlework  to  encircle  that  small  lump  of  pink 
humanity  !  What  care  is  taken  that  all  shall  be  in  order  !  See 
that  basket  lined  with  crimson  silk,  prepared  to  hold  his  various 
garments,  while  the  mother,  jealous  of  her  nurse,  insists  on 
tying  every  string  with  her  own  fingers.  And  then  how  soon 
the  change  comes ;  how  diff'erent  it  is  when  there  are  ten  of 
them,  and  the  tenth  is  allowed  to  inherit  the  well-worn  wealth 
which  the  ninth,  a  year  ago,  had  received  from  the  eighth. 
There  is  no  crimson  silk  basket  then,  I  trow. 

"  Jane,  Jane,  where  are  my  boots  ?"  "  Mary,  I've  lost  my 
trousers  !"  Such  sounds  are  heard,  shouted  through  the  house 
from  powerful  lungs. 

"  Why,  Charley,"  says  the  mother,  as  her  eldest  hope  rushes 
in  to  breakfast  with  dishevelled  hair  and  dirty  hands,  "  you've 
got  no  handkerchief  on  your  neck — what  have  you  done  with 
your  handkerchief  ?" 

"  No,  mamma  ;  it  came  off  in  the  hay-loft,  and  I  can't  find  it." 

"  Papa,"  says  the  lady  wife,  turning  to  her  lord,  who  is  read- 
ing his  newspaper  over  his  coffee — "  papa,  you  really  must  speak 
to  Charley ;  he  will  not  mind  me.  He  was  dressed  quite  nicely 
an  hour  ago,  and  do  see  what  a  figure  he  has  made  himself." 

"  Charley,"  says  papa,  not  quite  relishing  this  disturbance  in 
the  midst  of  a  very  interesting  badger-baiting — "  Charley,  my 
boy,  if  you  don't  mind  your  P's  and  Q's  you  and  I  shall  fall 
out ;  mind  that ;"  and  he  again  goes  on  with  his  sport ;  and 
mamma  goes  on  with  her  teapot,  looking  not  exactly  like 
Patience  on  a  monument. 

Such  are  the  joys  which  await  you,  Mr.  Charles  Tudor;  but 
not  to  such  have  you  as  yet  arrived.  As  yet  there  is  but  the 
one  little  pink  deity  in  the  rocking  shrine  above  ;  but  one,  at 
least,  of  your  own.  At  the  moment  of  which  we  are  now 
speaking  there  were  visitors  at  Surbiton  Cottage,  and  the  new 
nursery  was  brought  into  full  use.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Norman,  of 
Normansgrove,  were  there  with  their  two  children  and  two 
maids,  and  grandmamma  Woodward  had  her  hands  quite  full 
in  the  family  nursery  line. 


CONCLUSION.  487 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  evening,  and  the  two  young 
mothers  were  sitting  with  Mrs.  Woodward  and  Uncle  Bat  in 
the  drawing-room,  waiting  for  their  lords'  return  from  London. 
As  usual,  when  they  stayed  late,  the  two  men  w^ere  to  dine  at 
their  club  and  come  down  to  tea.  The  nursemaids  were  walk- 
ing on  the  lawn  before  the  window  with  their  charges,  and  the 
three  ladies  were  busily  employed  with  some  fairly-written 
manuscript  pages,  which  they  were  cutting  carefully  into  shape, 
and  arranging  in  particular  form. 

"  Now,  mamma,"  said  Katie,  "  if  you  laugh  once  while  you 
are  reading  it,  you'll  spoil  it  all." 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  my  dear,  but  I'm  sure  I  shall  break 
down  ;  you  have  made  it  so  very  abusive,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

''  Mamma,  I  think  I'll  take  out  that  about  official  priggism — 
hadn't  I  better,  Linda  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  think  you  had ;  I'm  sure  mamma  would  break 
down  there,"  said  Linda.  "  Mamma,  I'm  sure  you  would  never 
get  over  the  official  priggism." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  What  is  it  you  are  all  concocting  ?"  said  Captain  Cutt- 
water ;  "  some  infernal  mischief,  I  know,  craving  your  pardons." 

"  If  you  tell  Uncle  Bat,  I'll  never  forgive  y(5u,"  said  Katie. 

"  Oh,  you  may  trust  me ;  I  never  spoil  sport,  if  I  can't  make 
any;  but  the  fun  ought  to  be  very  good,  for  you've  been  a 
mortal  long  time  about  it." 

And  then  the  two  younger  ladies  again  went  on  clipping  and 
arranging  their  papers,  while  Mrs.  Woodward  renewed  her 
protest  that  she  would  do  her  best  as  to  reading  their  produc- 
tion. While  they  were  thus  employed  the  postman's  knock 
was  heard,  and  a  letter  was  brought  in  from  the  far-away 
Australian  exiles.  The  period  at  which  these  monthly  missives 
arrived  were  moments  of  intense  anxiety,  and  the  letter  was 
seized  upon  with  eager  avidity.  It  was  from  Gertrude  to  her 
mother,  as  all  these  letters  were ;  but  in  such  a  production  they 
had  a  joint  property,  and  it  was  hardly  possible  to  say  who  first 
mastered  its  contents. 

It  will  only  be  necessary  here  to  give  some  extracts  from  the 
letter,  which  was  by  no  means  a  short  one.  So  much  must  be 
done  in  order  that  our  readers  may  know  something  of  the  fate 
of  those  who  perhaps  may  be  called  the  hero  and  heroine  of  the 
tale.  The  author  does  not  so  call  them  ;  he  professes  to  do  his 
work  without  any  such  appendages  to  his  story — heroism  there 
may  be,  and  he  hopes  there  is — more  or  less  of  it  there  should 


488  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

be  in  a  true  picture  of  most  characters ;  but  heroes  and  hero- 
ines, as  so  called,  are  not  commonly  met  with  in  our  daily  walks 
of  life. 

Before  Gertrude's  letter  had  been  disposed  of,  Norman  and 
Charley  came  in,  and  it  was  therefore  discussed  in  full  conclave. 
Alaric's  path  in  the  land  of  his  banishment  had  not  been  over 
roses.  The  upward  struggle  of  men,  who  have  fallen  from  a 
high  place  once  gained,  that  second  mounting  of  the  ladder  of 
life,  seldom  is  an  easy  path.  He,  and  with  him  Gertrude  and  his 
children,  had  been  called  on  to  pay  the  full  price  of  his  back- 
sliding. His  history  had  gone  with  him  to  the  Antipodes; 
and,  though  the  knowledge  of  what  he  had  done  was  not  there 
so  absolute  a  clog  upon  his  efforts,  so  overpowering  a  burden, 
as  it  would  have  been  in  London,  still  it  was  a  burden  and  a 
heavy  one. 

It  had  been  well  for  Gertrude  that  she  had  prepared  herself 
to  give  up  all  her  luxuries  by  her  six  months'  residence  in  that 
Millbank  Paradise  of  luxuries  ;  for  some  time  she  had  little 
enough  in  the  "  good  and  happy  land,"  to  which  she  had  taught 
herself  and  her  children  to  look  forward.  That  land  of  promise 
had  not  flowed  with  milk  and  honey  when  first  she  put  her  foot 
upon  its  soil;  its  produce  for  her  had  been  gall  and  bitter  herbs 
for  many  a  weary  month  after  she  first  landed.  But  her  heart 
had  never  sunk  with  her.  She  had  never  forgotten  that  he,  if 
he  were  to  work  well,  should  have  at  least  one  cheerful  compa- 
nion by  his  side.  She  had  been  true  to  him,  then  as  ever. 
And  yet  it  is  so  hard  to  be  true  to  high  principles  in  little  things. 
The  heroism  of  the  Roman,  who,  for  his  country's  sake,  leapt 
his  horse  into  a  bottomless  gulf,  was  as  nothing  to  that  of  a 
woman  who  can  keep  her  temper  through  poverty,  and  be 
cheerful  in  adversity. 

Through  poverty,  scorn,  and  bad  repute,  under  the  privations 
of  a  hard  life,  separated  from  so  many  that  she  had  loved,  and 
from  everything  that  she  had  liked,  Gertrude  had  still  been  true 
to  her  ideas  of  her  marriage  vow ;  true,  also,  to  her  pure  and 
single  love.  She  had  entwined  herself  with  him  in  sunny 
weather ;  and  when  the  storm  came,  she  did  her  best  to  shelter 
the  battered  stem  to  which  she  had  trusted  herself. 

By  degrees  things  mended  with  them  ;  and  in  this  letter, 
which  is  now  passing  from  eager  hand  to  hand  in  Katie's  draw- 
ing-room, Gertrude  spoke  with  better  hope  of  their  future 
prospects. 

"Thank  God,  we  are  once  more  all  well,"  she  said;  "and 


CONCLUSION.  489 

Alaric's  spirits  are  higher  than  they  were.  He  has,  indeed,  had 
much  to  try  them.  They  think,  I  believe,  in  England,  that  any 
kind  of  work  here  is  sure  to  command  a  high  price ;  of  this  I 
am  quite  sure,  that  in  no  employment  in  England  are  people  so 
tasked  as  they  are  here.  Alaricwas  four  months  in  these  men's 
counting-house,  and  I  am  sure  another  four  months  would  have 
seen  him  in  his  grave.  Though  I  knew  not  then  what  other 
provision  might  be  made  for  us,  I  implored  him,  almost  on  my 
knees,  to  give  up  that.  He  was  expected  to  be  there  for  ten, 
sometimes  twelve,  hours  a  day  ;  and  they  thought  he  should 
always  be  kept  going,  like  a  steam-engine.  You  know  Alaric 
never  was  afraid  of  work  ;  but  that  would  have  killed  him.  And 
what  was  it  for  ?  AVhat  did  they  give  him  for  that — for  all  his 
talent,  all  his  experience,  all  his  skill  ?  And  he  did  give  them 
all.  His  salary  was  two  pounds  ten  a-week  !  And  then,  when 
he  told  them  of  all  he  was  doing  for  them,  they  had  the  baseness 

to  remind  him  of .    Dearest  mother,  is  not  the  world  hard  ? 

It  was  that  that  made  me  insist  that  he  should  leave  them." 

Alaric's  present  path  was  by  no  means  over  roses.  This  cer- 
tainly was  a  change  from  those  days  on  which  he  had  sat,  one 
of  a  mighty  trio,  at  the  Civil  Service  Examination  Board,  strik- 
ing terror  into  candidates  by  a  scratch  of  his  pen,  and  making 
happy  the  desponding  heart  by  his  approving  nod.  His  ambi- 
tion now  was  not  to  sit  among  the  magnates  of  Great  Britain, 
and  make  his  voice  thunder  through  the  columns  of  the  "Times ;" 
,it  ranged  somewhat  lower  at  this  period,  and  was  confined  for 
the  present  to  a  strong  desire  to  see  his  wife  and  bairns  suffi- 
ciently fed,  and  not  left  absolutely  without  clothing.  He  inquired 
little  as  to  the  feeling  of  the  electors  of  Strathbogy. 

And  had  he  utterly  forgotten  the  stirring  motto  of  his  early 
days?  Did  he  ever  mutter  "Excelsior"  to  himself,  as,  with 
weary  steps,  he  dragged  himself  home  from  that  hated  count- 
ing-house ?  Ah  !  he  had  fatally  mistaken  the  meaning  of  the 
word  which  he  had  so  often  used.  There  had  been  the  error  of 
his  life.  "  Excelsior !"  When  he  took  such  a  watchword  for 
his  use,  he  should  surely  have  taught  himself  the  meaning  of  it. 

He  had  now  learnt  that  lesson  in  a  school  somewhat  of  the 
sternest ;  but,  as  time  wore  kindly  over  him,  he  did  teach  him- 
self to  accept  the  lesson  with  humility.  His  spirit  had  been 
well-nigh  broken  as  he  was  carried  from  that  court-house  in  the 
Old  Bailey  to  his  prison  on  the  river  sifle  ;  and  a  broken-spirit, 
like  a  broken  goblet,  can  never  again  become  whole.  But 
Nature  was  a  kind  mother  to  him,  and  did  not  permit  him  to 

21* 


490  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

be  wholly  crushed.  She  still  left  within  the  plant  the  germ  of 
life,  which  enabled  it  again  to  spring  up  and  vivify,  though 
sorely  bruised  by  the  heels  of  those  who  had  ridden  over  it. 
He  still  repeated  to  himself  the  old  watchword,  though  now  in 
humbler  tone  and  more  bated  breath  ;  and  it  may  be  presumed 
that  he  had  now  a  clearer  meaning  of  its  import. 

"  But  his  present  place,"  continued  Gertrude,  "  is  much — very 
much  more  suited  to  him.  He  is  corresponding  clerk  in  the 
first  bank  here,  and  though  his  pay  is  nearly  double  what  it 
was  at  the  other  place,  his  hours  of  work  are  not  so  oppressive. 
He  goes  at  nine  and  gets  away  at  five — that  is,  except  on  the 
arrival  or  dispatch  of  the  English  mails."  Here  was  a  place  of 
bliss  for  a  man  who  had  been  a  commissioner,  attending  at  the 
office  at  such  hours  as  best  suited  himself,  and  having  clerks  at 
his  beck  to  do  all  that  he  listed.  And  yet,  as  Gertrude  said, 
this  was  a  place  of  bliss  to  him.  It  was  a  heaven  as  compared 
with  that  other  hell. 

"  Alley  is  such  a  noble  boy,"  said  Gertrude,  becoming  almost 
joyous  as  she  spoke  of  her  own  immediate  cares.  "  He  is  most 
like  Katie,  I  think,  of  us  all ;  and  yet  he  is  very  like  his  papa. 
He  goes  to  a  day-school  now,  with  his  books  slung  over  his 
back  in  a  bag.  You  never  saw  such  a  proud  little  fellow  as  he 
is,  and  so  manly.  Charley  is  just  like  you — oh  !  so  like.  It 
makes  me  so  happy  that  he  is.  He  did  not  talk  so  early  as 
Alley,  but,  nevertheless,  he  is  more  forward  than  the  other 
children  I  see  here.  The  little  monkeys!  they  are  neither  of- 
them  the  least  like  me.  But  one  can  always  see  one's  self,  and 
it  don't  matter  if  one  does  not." 

"If  ever  there  was  a  brick,  Gertrude  is  one,"  said  Norman. 

"  A  brick !"  said  Charley — "  why  you  might  cut  her  to 
pieces,  and  build  another  Kensington  palace  out  of  the  slices. 
I  believe  she  is  a  brick." 

"  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  see  her  again  ?"  said  Mrs. 
"Woodward,  not  with  dry  eyes. 

"  Oh  yes,  mamma,"  said  Katie.  "  She  shall  come  home  to 
us  some  day,  and  we  will  endeavor  to  reward  her  for  it  all." 

Dear  Katie,  who  will  not  love  you  for  such  endeavor  ?  But, 
indeed,  the  reward  for  heroism  cometh  not  here. 

There  was  much  more  in  the  letter,  but  enough  has  been 
given  for  our  purpose.  It  will  be  seen  that  hope  yet  remained 
both  for  Alaric  and  hisVife  ;  and  hope  not  without  a  reasonable 
base.  Bad  as  he  had  been,  it  had  not  been  with  him  as  with 
Undy  Scott.     The  devil  had  not  contrived  to  put  his  whole 


\ 


S  Inclusion.       '^       -  4911,  J 

K  *i  'H 


claw  upon  him^  He  had  not  divested  himself  of  human  aflfec^'  ^^^b 
tions  and  celestial"  hope^""  He  had  not  reduced  himself  to  the 
present  level  of  a  beast,  -with  the  disadvantages  of  a  soul  and  of 
an  eternity,  as  the  other  man  had  done.  He  had  not  put  him- 
self beyond  the  pale  of  true  brotherhood  with  his  fellow-men. 
AVe  would  have  hanged  TJndy  had  the  law  permitted  us ;  but 
now  we  will  say  farewell  to  the  other,  hoping  that  he  may  yet 
achieve  exaltation  of  another  kind. 

And  to  thee,  Gertrude — how  shall  we  say  farewell  to  thee, 
excluded  as  thou  art  from  that  dear  home,  where  those  who 
love  thee  so  well  are  now  so  happy  ?  Their  only  care  remain- 
ing is  now  thy  absence.  Adversity  has  tried  thee  in  its 
crucible,  and  thou  art  found  to  be  of  virgin  gold,  unalloyed ; 
hadst  thou  still  been  lapped  in  prosperity  the  true  ring  of  thy 
sterling  metal  would  never  have  been  heard.  Farewell  to  thee, 
and  may  those  young  budding  flowerets  of  thine  break  forth 
into  golden  fruit  to  gladden  thy  heart  in  coming  days ! 

The  reading  of  Gertrude's  letter,  and  the  consequent  dis- 
cussion, somewhat  put  off  the  execution  of  the  little  scheme 
which  had  been  devised  for  that  evening's  amusement;  but, 
nevertheless,  it  was  still  broad  daylight  when  Mrs.  Woodward 
consigned  the  precious  document  to  her  desk ;  the  drawing- 
room  windows  were  still  open,  and  the  bairns  were  still  being- 
fondled  in  the  room.  It  was  the  first  week  in  July,  when  the 
night  almost  loses  her  dominion,  and  when  those  hours  which  she 
generally  claims  as  her  own,  become  the  pleasantest  of  the 
day. 

"  Oh,  Charley,"  said  Katie,  at  last,  *'  we  have  great  news  for 
you,  too.  Here  is  another  review  on  the  '  World's  Last  Won- 
der.' " 

Now  the  "World's  Last  Wonder"  was  Charley's  third  novel; 
but  he  was  still  sensitive  enough  on  the  subject  of  reviews  to 
look  with  much  anxiety  for  what  was  said  of  him.  These 
notices  were  habitually  sent  down  to  him  at  Hampton,  and  his 
custom  was  to  make  his  wife  or  her  mother  read  them,  while  he 
sat  by  in  lordly  ease  in  his  arm-chair,  receiving  homage  when 
homage  came  to  him,  and  criticising  the  critics  when  they  were 
uncivil. 

"  Have  you  ?  "  said  Charley.  "  What  is  it  ?  Why  did  you 
not  show  it  me  before  ?  " 

"  Why,  we  were  talking  of  dear  Gertrude,"  said  Katie ;  "  and 
it  is  not  so  pleasant  but  that  it  will  keep.  What  paper  do  you 
think  it  is?" 


492  THE   THREE    CLERKS. 

"  What  paper  ?  how  on  earth  can  I  tell  ? — show  it  me." 

"  No ;  but  do  guess,  Charley ;  and  then  mamma  will  read  it 
— pray  guess  now." 

"  Oh,  bother,  I  can't  guess.  '  The  Literary  Censor,'  I  sup- 
pose— I  know  they  have  turned  against  me." 

"  No,  it's  not  that,"  said  Linda ;  "  guess  again." 

"  The  '  Guardian  Angel,' "  said  Charley. 

"  No — that  angel  has  not  taken  you  under  his  wings  as  yet," 
said  Katie. 

"I  know  it's  not  the  'Times,'"  said  Charley,  "for  I  have 
seen  that." 

"  0  no,"  said  Katie,  seriously ;  "  if  it  was  anything  of  that 
sort,  we  would  not  keep  you  in  suspense." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  shot  if  I  guess  any  more — there  are  such 
thousands  of  them." 

"  But  there  is  only  one  '  Daily  Delight,'  "  said  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward. 

*'  Nonsense ! "  said  Charley.  "  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that  my  dear  old  friend  and  foster-father  has  fallen  foul  of  me — 
my  old  teacher  and  master,  if  not  spiritual  pastor ;  well — well 
— well.  The  ingratitude  of  the  age  !  I  gave  him  my  two  beau- 
tiful stories,  the  first-fruits  of  my  vine,  all  for  love  ;  to  think  that 
he  should  now  lay  his  treacherous  axe  to  the  root  of  the  young 
tree — well,  give  it  here." 

"  No — mamma  will  read  it — we  want  Harry  to  hear  it." 

"  O  yes — let  Mrs.  Woodward  read  it,"  said  Harry.  "  I  trust  it 
is  severe.  I  know  no  man  who  wants  a  dragging  over  the  coals 
more  peremptorily  than  you  do." 

"  Thankee,  sir.  Well,  grandmamma,  go  on ;  but  if  there  be 
anything  very  bad,  give  me  a  little  notice,  for  I  am  nervous." 

And  then  Mrs.  Woodward  began  to  read,  Linda  sitting  with 
Katie's  baby  in  her  arms,  and  Katie  performing  a  similar  office 

*' '  The  'World's  Last  Wonder,'  by  Charles  Tudor,  Esq.' " 

"  He  begins  with  a  lie,"  said  Charley,  "  for  I  never  called 
myself  Esquire." 

"  Oh,  that  was  a  mistake,"  said  Katie,  forgetting  herself. 

"  Men  of  that  kind  shouldn't  make  such  mistakes,"  said 
Charley.  "  When  one  fellow  attempts  to  cut  up  another  fellow, 
he  ought  to  take  special  care  that  he  does  it  fairly." 

"  'By  the  author  of  '  Bathos.' "  ' 

"  I  didn't  put  that  in,"  said  Charley,  "  that  was  the  publisher. 
I  only  put  Charles  Tudor." 


CONCLUSION.  493 

"  Don't  be  so  touchy,  Charley,  and  let  me  go  on,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodward. 

"  Well,  fire  away-;— it's  good  fun  to  you  I  dare  say,  as  the  fly 
said  to  the  spider." 

"  Well,  Charley,  at  any  rate  we  are  not  the  spiders,"  said 
Linda.  Katie  said  nothing,  but  she  could  not  help  feeling  that 
she  must  look  rather  spiderish. 

"  'Mr.  Tudor  has  acquired  some  little  reputation  as  a  humorist, 
but  as  is  so  often  the  case  with  those  who  make  us  laugh,  his 
very  success  will  prove  his  ruin.'  " 

"Then  upon  my  word  the  'Daily  Delight'  is  safe,"  said 
Charley.    "  It  will  never  be  ruined  in  that  way." 

"'There  is  an  elaborate  jocosity  about  him,  a  determined 
eternity  of  most  industrious  fun,  which  gives  us  the  idea  of  a 
boy  who  is  being  rewarded  for  having  duly  learnt  by  rote  his 
daily  lesson  out  of  Joe  Miller.' " 

"Now,  I'll  bet  ten  to  one  he  has  never  read  the  book  at  all — 
well,  never  mind — go  on." 

' "  The  '  World's  Last  Wonder  '  is  the  description  of  a  woman 
who  kept  a  secret  under  certain  temptations  to  reveal  it,  which, 
as  Mr.  Tudor  supposes,  might  have  moved  any  daughter  of  Eve 
to  break  her  faith."  ' 

"I  haven't  supposed  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  Charley. 

"  '  This  secret,  which  we  shall  not  disclose,  as  we  would  not 
wish  to  be  thought  less  trustworthy  than  Mr.  Tudor's  wonderful 
woman " ' 

"  We  shall  find  that  he  does  disclose  it,  of  course  ;  that  is  the 
way  with  all  of  them." 

— "  '  Is  presumed  to  permeate  the  whole  three  volumes.'  " 

"  It  is  told  at  full  length  in  the  middle  of  the  second,"  said 
Charley. 

"  '  And  the  effect  upon  the  reader  of  course  is,  that  he  has 
ceased  to  interest  himself  about  it,  long  before  it  is  disclosed  to 
him  ! 

"  '  The  lady  in  question  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  gentle- 
man, a  circumstance  which  in  the  pages  of  a  novel  is  not  calcu- 
lated to  attract  much  special  attention.  She  is  engaged  to  be 
married,  but  the  gentleman  who  has  the  honor  of  being  her  in- 
tended sposo ' " 

"  Intended  sposo !  "  said  Charley,  expressing  by  his  upturned 
lip  a  withering  amount  of  scorn — "  how  well  I  know  the  fellow's 
low  attempts  at  wit !  That's  the  editor  himself — that's  my  lite- 
rary papa.     I  know  him  as  well  as  though  I  had  seen  him  at  it." 


494  THE  THREE   CLERKS. 

Katie  and  Mrs.  Woodward  exchanged  furtive  glances,  but 
neither  of  them  moved  a  muscle  of  her  face. 

" '  But  the  gentleman  who  has  the  honor  of  being  her  intended 
sposo,' "  continued  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  What  the  devil's  a  sposo  ?  "  said  Uncle  Bat,  who  was  sitting 
in  an  arm-chair  with  a  handkerchief  over  his  head. 

"  Why  you're  not  a  sposo.  Uncle  Bat,"  said  Linda,  "  but 
Harry  is,  and  so  is  Charley." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  the  captaitt ;  "  it's  a  bird  with  his  wings 
clipped." 

"  '  But  the  gentleman  who  has  the  honor  of  being  her  intended 
sposo '  "  again  read  Mrs.  Woodward. 

"  Now  I'm  sure  I'm  speaking  by  the  card,"  said  Charley, 
"  when  I  say  that  there  is  not  another  man  in  London  who  could 
have  written  that  line,  and  who  would  have  used  so  detestable  a 
word.  I  think  I  remember  his  using  it  in  one  of  his  lectures  to 
me  ;  indeed  I'm  sure  I  do.  Sposo  !  I  should  like  to  tweak  his 
nose  oh ! " 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  me  go  on  ? "  said  Mrs.  Woodward — " '  her 
intended  sposo ' " — Charley  gave  a  kick  with  his  foot  and  satisfied 
himself  with  that — "  '  is  determined  to  have  nothing  to  say  to  her 
in  the  matrimonial  line  till  she  has  revealed  to  him  this  secret 
which  he  thinks  concerns  his  own  honor."  ' 

"  There,  I  knew  he'd  tell  it." 

"  He  has  not  told  it  yet,"  said  Norman. 

" '  The  lady,  however,  is  obdurate,  wonderfully  so,  of  course, 
seeing  that  she  is  the  world's  last  wonder,  and  so  the  match  is 
broken  off.  But  the  secret  is  of  such  a  nature  that  the  lady's 
invincible  objection  to  revealing  it  is  bound  up  with  the  fact  of 
her  being  a  promised  bride.'  " 

"  I  wonder  he  didn't  say  sposa,"  said  Charley. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Katie. 

Mrs.  Woodward  and  Linda  looked  at  her,  but  Charley  did  not, 
and  her  blunder  passed  by  unnoticed. 

" '  Now  that  she  is  free  from  her  matrimonial  bonds,  she  is  free 
also  to  tell  the  secret ;  and  indeed  the  welfare  both  of  the  gen- 
tleman and  of  the  lady  imperiously  demands  that  it  should  be 
told.  Should  he  marry  her,  he  is  destined  to  learn  it  after  his 
marriage  ;  should  he  not  marry  her,  he  may  hear  it  at  any  time. 
She  sends  for  him  and  tells  him,  not  the  first  of  these  facts,  by 
doing  which  all  difficulty  would  have  at  once  been  put  an  end 
to ' " 

"  It  is  quite  clear  he  has  never  read  the  story,  quite  clear," 
said  Charley. 


CONCLUSION.  495 

*' '  She  tells  him  only  the  last,  viz.,  that  as  they  are  now 
strangers  he  may  know  the  secret ;  but  that  when  once  known 
it  will  raise  a  barrier  between  them  that  no  years,  no  penance, 
no  sorrow  on  his  part,  no  tenderness  on  hers,  can  ever  break 
down.     She  then  asks  him — will  he  hear  the  secret  ? ' " 

"  She  does  not  ask  any  such  thing,"  said  Charley ;  "  the 
letter  that  contains  it  has  been  already  sent  to  him.  She  merely 
gives  him  an  opportunity  of  returning  it  unopened." 

"  '  The  gentleman,  who  is  not  without  a  grain  of  obstinacy  in 
his  own  composition  and  many  grains  of  curiosity,  declares  it 
to  be  impossible  that  he  can  go  to  the  altar  in  ignorance  of  facts 
which  he  is  bound  to  know,  and  the  lady,  who  seems  to  be  of 
an  affectionate  disposition,  falls  in  tenderness  at  his  feet.  She 
is  indeed  in  a  very  winning  mood,  and  quite  inclined  to  use 
every  means  allowable  to  a  lady  for  retaining  her  lover ;  every 
means  that  is  short  of  that  specially  feminine  one  of  telling  her 
secret. 

"  '  We  \vill  give  an  extract  from  this  love  scene,  partly  for  the 
sake  of  its  grotesque  absurdity '  " 

Charley  kicked  out  another  foot,  as  though  he  thought  that 
the  editor  of  the  "Daily  Delight"  might  perhaps  be  within 
reach. 

" ' — And  partly  because  it  gives  a  fair  example  of  the  manner 
in  which  Mr.  Tudor  endeavors  to  be  droll  even  in  the  midst  of 
his  most  tender  passages. 

" '  Leonora  was  at  this  time  seated '  " 

"  Oh,  skip  the  extract,"  said  Charley ;  "  1  suppose  there  are 
three  or  four  pages  of  it  ?" 

"  It  goes  down  to  where  Leonora  says  that  his  fate  and  her 
own  are  in  his  hands." 

"  Yes,  about  three  columns,"  said  Charley;  "that's  an  easy 
way  of  making  an  article — eh,  Harry  ?" 

"  Aliter  non  fit,  amice,  liber,^''  said  the  classical  Norman. 

"  Well,  skip  the  extract,  grandmamma." 

"  '  Now,  did  any  one  ever  before  read  such  a  mixture  of  the 
bombastic  and  the  burlesque  ?  We  are  called  upon  to  cry  over 
every  joke,  and,  for  the  life  of  us,  we  cannot  hold  our  sides 
when  the  catastrophes  occur.  It  is  a  salad  in  which  the  pun- 
gency of  the  vinegar  has  been  wholly  subdued  by  the  oil, 
and  the  fatness  of  the  oil  destroyed  by  the  tartness  of  the 
vineo-ar.' " 

"  His  old  simile,"  said  Charley ;  "  he  was  always  talking 
about  literarv  salads." 


496  THE   THREE   CLERKS. 

"  '  The  gentleman,  of  course,  gives  way  at  the  last  minute,' 
continued  Mrs.  Woodward.  '  The  scene  in  which  he  sits  with 
the  unopened  letter  lying  on  his  table  before  him  has  some 
merit ;  but  this  probably  arises  from  the  fact  that  the  letter  is 
dumb,  and  the  gentleman  equally  so.'" 

"  D — nation  !"  said  Charley,  whose  patience  could  not  stand 
such  impudence  as  this. 

" '  The  gentleman,  who,  as  we  should  have  before  said,  is  the 
eldest  son  of  a  man  of  large  reputed  fortune '  " 

"  There— I  knew  he'd  tell  it." 

"  Oh,  but  he  hasn't  told  it,"  said  Norman. 

"  Doesn't  the  word  '  reputed  '  tell  it  ?" 

"  '  — The  eldest  son  of  a  man  of  large  reputed  fortune  does 

at  least  marry  the  heroine  ;  and  then  he  discovers ,     But 

what  he  discovers,  those  who  feel  any  interest  in  the  matter 
may  learn  from  the  book  itself;  we  must  profess  that  we  felt 
none. 

"  '  We  will  not  say  there  is  nothing  in  the  work  indicative 
of  talent.  The  hero's  valet,  Jacob  Brush,  and  the  heroine's 
lady's-maid,  Jacintha  Pintail,  are  both  humorous  and  good  in 
their  wa}^  Why  it  should  be  so,  we  do  not  pretend  to  say  ; 
but  it  certainly  does  appear  to  us  that  Mr.  Tudor  is  more  at 
home  in  the  servants'  hall  than  in  the  lady's  boudoir.'  " 

"Abominable  scoundrel!"  said  Charley. 

"  '  But  what  we  must  chiefly  notice,' "  continued  the  article, 
"  '  in  the  furtherance  of  those  views  by  which  we  profess  that 
we  are  governed '" 

"  Now,  I  know,  we  are  to  have  something  very  grandiloquent 
and  very  false,"  said  Charley. 

"' — Is  this:  that  no  moral  purpose  can  be  served  by  the 
volumes  before  us.  The  hero  acts  wrongly  throughout,  but 
nevertheless  he  is  rewarded  at  last.  There  is  no  Neme- 
sis  " 

"  No  what  ?"  said  Charley,  jumping  up  from  his  chair  and 
looking  over  the  table. 

"No  Nemesis,"  said  Mrs.  Woodward,  speaking  with  only 
half-sustained  voice,  and  covering  with  her  arms  the  document 
which  she  had  been  reading. 

Charley  looked  sharply  at  his  wife,  then  at  Linda,  then  at 
Mrs.  Woodward.  Not  one  of  them  could  keep  her  face.  He 
made  a  snatch  at  the  p^ched-up  manuscript,  and  as  he  did 
so,  Katie  almost  threw  out  of  her  arms  the  baby  she  was 
holding. 


CONCLUSION.  497 

"  Take  him,  Harry,  take  him,"  said  she,  handing  over  the 
child  to  his  father.  And  then  gliding  quick  as  thought  through 
the  furniture  of  the  drawing-room,  she  darted  out  upon  the 
lawn,  to  save  herself  from  the  coming  storm. 

Charley  was  quickly  after  her  ;  but  as  he  made  his  exit,  one 
chair  fell  to  the  right  of  him,  and  another  to  the  left.  Mrs. 
Woodward  followed  them,  and  so  did  Harry  and  Linda,  each 
with  a  baby. 

And  then  Captain  Cuttwater,  waking  from  his  placid  nap, 
rubbed  his  eyes  in  wondering  amazement. 

"  What  the  devil  is  all  the  row  about  ?"  said  he.  But  there 
was  nobody  to  answer  him. 


THE     END. 


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tory of  Napoleon  Bonaparte."  "Napoleon  at  St.  Helena,"  Histories 
of  "Josephine,"  "Madame  Roland,"  "Marie  Antoinette,"  &c. 
With  numerous  Engravings.     8vo,  Muslin,  $2  50. 

MISS  STRICKLAND'S  QUEENS  OF  SCOTLAND. 

Lives  of  the  Queens  of  Scotland,  and  English  Princesses  connect- 
ed with  the  Regal  Succession  of  Great  Britain.  By  Agnes  Strick- 
land. Vol.  VIII.  completing  the  Work.  12mo,  Muslin,  $1  00. 
Sets  in  Muslin,  $8  00;  Half  Calf,  $U  80. 


6  HARPER  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  NEW  BOOKS. 

AMERICAN  WIT  AND  HUMOR. 

Illustrated  by  J.  McLenan.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

EPISODES  OF  FRENCH  HISTORY 

During  the  Consulate  and  the  First  Empire.    By  Miss  Pardoe. 
12mo,  Muslin,  $1  00. 

WALTER  THORNLEY; 

Or,  A  Peep  at  the  Past.  By  the  Author  of  ''Allen  Prescott"  and 
"Alida"(Mrs.  Sedgwick).     12mo,  Muslin,  $1  00. 

ADAM  BEDE. 

A  Novel.  By  George  Eliot,  Author  of  "Scenes  of  Clerical 
Life."     12mo,  Muslin,  $1  00. 

JOHN  HALIFAX,  Gentleman. 
A  Novel.     By  Miss  Muloch,  Author  of  "A  Life  for  a  Life," 
*' Olive,"  "The  Ogilvies,"  &c.,  &c.     Library  Edition,  with  Four 
Illustrations  by   Hoppin,  12mo,    Muslin,  $1  00;   8vo,  Paper,  50 
cents. 

THE  BERTRAMS. 

A  Novel.  By  Anthony  Trollope,  Author  of  "Doctor  Thorne." 
12mo,  Muslin,  $1  00. 

LOVE  ME  LITTLE,  LOVE  ME  LONG.  . 

A  Novel.  By  Charles  Reade,  Author  of  "A  Good  Fight," 
"Peg  Woffington,"  "Christie  Johnstone,"  "Never  too  Late  to 
Mend,"  «S;c.     12mo,  Muslin,  75  cents ;  Paper,  65  cents.  * 

THE  ROMANCE  AND  ITS  HERO. 

By  the  Author  of  "Magdalen  Stafford."     12mo,  Muslin,  $1  00. 

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